


Grail Effect

by wyval



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Mass Effect - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:55:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyval/pseuds/wyval
Summary: The Fifth Grail War would have started much earlier than expected, with a rather irregular Heroic Spirit in its roster - and that gave a certain meddlesome Ancestor an (insane) idea.





	1. Chapter 1

It is said that the Throne of Heroes exists outside the boundaries of Time itself, standing at a convergence where past, present, and future merge as one. It is where all who inscribe their identity with their deeds into Humanity’s memory are preserved as long as the race itself lasts. And, should the need arise, these imprints can be called forth into the physical reality, given life (of a sort) again for a sufficiently important cause. Perhaps the most well-known of such cases is the Holy Grail War that has ravaged Fuyuki City four times already, repeating itself every sixty years.

It is also said that Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Wizard Marshall and Fourth of the Dead Apostle Ancestors, is an unrepentant, blatant troll who likes use his mastery of the Kaleidoscope for meddling in the affairs of others - mostly for his own amusement, questionable as that may be, but occasionally, for reasons much more noble or pragmatic. And as one of the people involved in creating the ritual of the Grail War itself, he was intimately familiar with the workings and circumstances of the event, particularly the corruption of the Grail itself.

Thus, in hindsight, those involved in the highly irregular, much too early Fifth Holy Grail War should really have realized just who to blame for the events that unfolded.

Not that it would have helped them in any way whatsoever. 

++++++

The ancient, bearded man peered deep into the rapidly flickering array of screens, discarding scenes and coordinates one after other, correlations and possibilities swirling around in a maddened, kaleidoscopic dance.

The old man grinned suddenly, an image expanded, merging the array of screens into a single panoramic view.

_ A distant, minor, backwater colony. A doomed settlement. Inhuman, alien invaders with superior numbers and quality equipment, mercilessly burning, killing and enslaving the populace. A cry, an entreaty for help, for succor, for judgment. A golden-crimson flash of light and power in the air, accompanied by a swirl of golden motes. A vast spike of killing intent, a venomous hiss from the affronted king hovering above the lowly vermin, who dare to raise their weapons against the rightful ruler. Scores, hundreds of golden portals irising open, raining the destruction of the King’s judgment on those who dared to invade that bland, out-of-sight corner of the King’s garden. A young, red-headed woman writhing on the ground, blood trickling from her eyes and ears as prana overload scalds her circuits, her mind filled with static as the sight burned itself into her mind. _

With a sharp, predatory grin, the elder magician spoke in a voice of gravelly thunder, a dizzyingly complex circle of arcane symbols outlining itself on the floor, the eldritch coordinates inherent to the Second True Magic shifting across all seven layers.

He could feel the distinct cadence of the ancient contract from all chosen Masters simultaneously as he adjusted the sidereal coordinates minutely, his smirk widening as he glimpsed each tool of his future plan, the chosen options for fixing at least some of his past mistakes - and simultaneously, provide him with quality entertainment. Immortality was quite tedious, after all.

++++++

**_Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone._ **

**_The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg._ **

_ The young prodigy chanted, her short black skirt swirling in the unseen winds, her hand clutching her pendant (or the cross hanging from her neck?) as she chanted. With a fond grin, he gestured and the relevant layer of the circle flared in response. The grin transformed into a chuckle, as he considered her reaction - after all, she all but asked for this particular Heroic Spirit, what with her religion; never mind that she was not an avid practitioner.  _

++++++

**_The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate._ **

**_Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill)._ **

_ The damp, susurrating darkness threatens to suffocate the dim light of the summoning circle, as the dead-eyed, violated girl chanted in a flat tone, her body shivering in pleasure/pain as the worms within and without writhed in hungry ecstasy. With a furrowed brow, the observer set her layer of the kaleidoscopic circle alight, a bitter smile forming on his lips. While the dispatched Heroic Spirit may show mercy towards the girl, his attitude and the nature of his steed would surely grate on the monster that coerced the teen. _

++++++

**_Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled._ **

**_――――I announce._ **

_ Ah yes, the one who placed so much emphasis on duty and battle, and could likely misplace her trust. Well, that certainly would not do, now would it? The magician nodded to himself. Yes, with how the Heroic Spirit acted and looked, her enemies would never see her Servant coming. _

++++++

**_Your self is under me, my fate(doom) is in your sword._ **

**_In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer._ **

_ The blonde noble chanted, voice resonating under the cold night sky. Poise, breeding, and a thirst for knowledge beat underneath that voice, and Zelretch grinned. Yes, he had just the Heroic Spirit for this one - there could be no complaints about pedigree, power, or the vast trove of knowledge his preferred selection would bring to this partnership. _

_ ++++++  _

**_Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead._ **

_ Annoyingly, the very nature of this particular Heroic Spirit ensured that the summoner would be concealed even from him - not that it mattered, considering the particular set of skills and beliefs of the one dispatched from the Throne. Yes, even if all else failed, those who could not be saved would be given the mercy they deserved. _

_ ++++++ _

**_Yet, thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos._ **

**_Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am he who command those chains._ **

_ Deep beneath the ancient castle, a small albino altered the chant slightly, and the distant, nearby Magician shook his head minutely. Always meddling with the system they helped create. Well, he would assist them in getting exactly what they wanted - a hero from the ancient times, a warlord beyond compare. _

++++++

**_You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――！_ **

_ And for the final, crowning touch, the Second Magician set alight the layer that would dispatch the one who caused it all - the one whose bone-headed determination and sheer inability to die was and would become a thing of legend. Certainly, the young redhead would do well to heed her guidance, if he wanted to pursue that childish, necessary dream of his. _

++++++

Kaleidoscopic light flared seven times, at seven different points in space-time. None of them knew what went wrong or how, but all who were chosen by the Grail could feel the contract forming despite their disbelief.

++++++

Deep beneath the Einzbern castle, three homunculi stood before the ritual circle, staring dumbfounded at the creature towering above them. The being wore a battered, scuffed armor the color of blood, showing the wear and tear of countless centuries spent warring across infinity. Its visage was somewhat sharklike, the clawmarks across its head narrowly missing one eye a testament to its luck. The behemoth glared back at them, its blood-red gaze locked with the eyes of the small, childlike waif standing in front of it. Ilyasviel von Einzbern had to suppress a shiver, as she could feel the age and power of the being pressing down on her, the contract leeching off her prana in unexpected quantities - and more worryingly, despite the Mad Enhancement, the creature seemed fully lucid and in command of its faculties. The monster’s maw parted, flashing rows of serrated fangs, and the girl tensed, along with her two bodyguards, waiting for a roar of fury, a rabid attack, a frothing-mad outburst.

“Let’s get it straight kid: are you my Master?”

Ilya blinked, as she heard not a shred of resentment or hostility in the deep basso rumble. Then she blinked again as the behemoth flashed a grin at her, and there was a twinge of fond, tolerant amusement across their bond.

“You’ll learn yet, little girl. I’d be a very poor battlemaster if I was unable to harness and control the bloodrage.” The grandfatherly grin sharpened to a predatory smirk as killing intent flooded the chamber. “And trust me, together, we can and will trample whoever stands in our way.”

For some reason, Ilya could not resist joining in the booming laughter of the weird but strangely comforting being.

++++++

The old man leaned back in the chair, pressed a control on the armrest, and basked in the majestic sight of the ever-shifting patterns of Anadius’ surface, the taste of decades-old whiskey and priceless cigars blending in his mouth.

Yes, this would do nicely indeed. Now, he only had to watch the show. And maybe do something to show his appreciation for Harper’s taste in liquor and decor.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Five days after the Einzbern summoning. 44 days before the Fifth Grail War. _

After a relatively short period of sulking and heated arguments, Ilyasviel von Einzbern had to come to accept the conclusion that there were distinct advantages of having a krogan battlemaster at her side. Sure, even Wrex conceded that he would probably lose in terms of pure might against the demigod son of a pantheon’s chief deity whom Ilya originally intended to summon and make her Servant. Even so, the krogan made a fair point that controlled, precise application of power was no less devastating - and considering the nature of the Grail War, the number of participants involved, that precision may make their job much easier. After all, even in the wake of the Fourth War, people would not expect a Berserker that was actually mostly in control of himself despite the Mad Enhancement laid upon him. Not that Wrex was unable to act like a blood-mad juggernaut of destruction, when needed - and try as she might, Ilya could not really suppress an amused snickering when she recalled the old warlord reading the riot act to her family when he brought her back from the woods, after fending off a pack of magically reinforced wolf familiars that someone in the family sent to consume the  _ failed experiment _ .

++++++

_ Two days earlier _

The young girl panted from exertion, her magic circuits burning from the sustained active use of prana, as she launched familiar after familiar against the circling pack of snarling, red-eyed demons hounding her. She could feel the chill creeping into her flesh and bones, using the tears in her meager clothes as conduits to weave her doom. Only a dimming spark of defiance kept her from laying down and succumbing to fate - she would not give her clan the pleasure of going quietly. A flicker of movement from her left was all the warning she had, and she spun, an intricately woven dagger of prana forming in the air to skewer the wolf soaring with bared fangs towards her. Ilya’s eyes widened as her strike barely grazed the familiar’s side, shaking hands and shivering body not really helping her aim. She could feel the beast’s putrid breath on her face, and involuntarily squeezed her eyes shut. 

A muffled yelp.

A spattering of hot fluid on her face.

A spike of murderous fury along with an immense spiritual pressure materializing at her side, erupting into a bonfire of almost physical wrath.

A huge hand landing on her shoulder, squeezing it with carefully controlled strength.

A deafening boom, followed by a bloodthirsty chuckle.

Ilyasviel opened her eyes, and her jaw almost fell as she watched her Servant tear into the wolfpack with unmatched fury and uncanny grace. A fist wreathed in blue energy tore familiars into pieces. A gesture of the selfsame hand sent a trio of wolves flying with a wave of coruscating energy. Another was dissolved by the blue flames eating into its body. In her Servant’s other hand an immense cannon flashed with crimson energies, and a fifth attacker simply vanished, only the stench of burning meat and hair wafting in the cold winter air.

In less than a minute, it was over, and she blinked at her savior.

“I thought you were smarter than this, kid.” The bond carried fondness belying the annoyed tone. “Come on, let’s have a talk with your family.”

“Why are you doing this, Berserker?” A sniffle. “I did not even want you. I tried to enslave your mind. I was stupid enough to get separated from my Servant. Why follow such a Master?”

The alien chuckled, and reached down to lift Ilya on his shoulder.

“You remind me a bit on my adopted niece.” His voice became a growl. “And I do not like seeing children suffer.” A chuckle. “Not even when they act like spoiled brats.”

++++++

The constant, low buzz of conversation, speculation filled the grand chamber of the Einzbern castle, as the clan members present speculated on the reason Old Man Acht summoned them for an audience. The prevailing consensus was that the patriarch would select a replacement representative for the incoming Fifth Grail War, in lieu of the failed homunculus, who suffered such an unfortunate accident. A shame, really - young Ilyasviel represented quite a lot of investment on the Einzbern’s part, and her rare heritage made her a rather coveted specimen for study purposes.

As the door behind the patriarch’s empty throne opened, there was a hiss of collectively in-drawn breath, as the torn, bloody waif marched at Jubstacheit’s side. The old head of the clan took his customary seat, his gaze radiating disdain, and all braced themselves for the no doubt scathing condemnation that would come.

Yet the elder was silent. The girl at the throne’s side smiled, showing teeth. At her side, the monstrous abomination that was her Servant materialized. The temperature dropped in the chamber, as the armored monster looked at the assembled humans and homunculi, his thirst for blood and violence an almost palpable taste in the stale air. The Servant spoke then, his voice a calm, rumbling basso - yet all could hear the undertone of tightly-chained wrath beneath.

“You sorry lot try harming the girl again, I’m going to eat you raw.” The warlord grinned at them, flashing teeth. “And if you think to take her Command Seals, well, I would love to see you try.” The low, eager chuckle of the Servant sent most of the assembled magi shivering. “Thought so. Now, the kid and me have places to be, so feel free to whine and plot while we grab ourselves a cup.”

The towering behemoth marched away, the albino waif at his side.

++++++

Yes, there were definitely advantages to having Wrex around. She was really looking forward to not having to endure the experiments and constant, malevolent whispering. And it’s not like she would miss anyone - Mama had been gone for years, Sella and Leysritt were accompanying Ilya and Wrex, the others were, at best, only technically family to her.

Even when she was going towards a deadly battle royale, Ilya felt the closest to being content since Mama and Papa left for Japan a decade ago.

++++++

_ Finland; 42 days until the Fifth Holy Grail War _

The young blonde checked on the summoning circle once more, making sure that the symbols and jewels were in their proper place, before she started chanting the ritual invocation, the faint outline of the Command Seals becoming sharper and more defined with each line of the ancient aria. Her voice rising to a crescendo, the vortex of generated prana swirling in the cold arctic sky, she had to squint as the circle flared with kaleidoscopic colors, and a breathy, cultured female voice answered her entreaty from the central pentagram.

“Under the name of Caster, I accept the contract.”

The young woman allowed herself a satisfied smile, then she blinked as she took in the figure standing in the circle. The Heroic Spirit wore a white thigh-length coat with blue highlights, trousers with white armor plating, and sturdy boots - already a surprising deviation, considering that she was supposed to be the Princess of Colchis. But it was not only her clothes, no - the real surprise was the blue, seemingly scale-like skin and the tentacles instead of hair. Calm blue eyes met astonished reddish-brown ones, and the being smiled at the gawking Luvia.

“Yes, well, I’m as surprised as you are. Still, we should probably get to work - and the Goddess have mercy on those standing in our way.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ Einzbern Castle; 40 day until the Fifth Holy Grail War _

“We have finished preparations for the travel, Mistress Ilya.” Sella’s voice held a hint of exasperation. “The items you requested have been packed and Lord Jubstacheit has made the travel arrangements. He also assures you that the castle in Fuyuki is in acceptable shape and will serve as a suitable basis of operations for someone of your status.”

Ilya nodded absentmindedly, then both homunculi started as Wrex materialized, snorting. Ilya pouted at her Servant, the array she spent fiddling with dispersing into motes of light while Sella nodded at the towering warlord.

“So, you will follow the family instructions, kid?” 

Ilya cocked her head to the side before nodding, the gesture somewhat hesitant as she felt an undercurrent of something indecipherable from the krogan.

“You are using the travel itinerary your family prepared for you. You will live in the castle they created for you. A castle that has already been used once before.”

“Yes? I do not see why I should not do so; it is more efficient this way. Surely, you can agree to that much as well.”

“Efficient, right. If you want to ensure that your precious family can constantly keep an eye on you, definitely.” Wrex raised his palm when Sella opened her mouth. “Not you two; harsh as it sounds, the two of you were created specifically to attend Ilya and protect her. I do not think either of you would turn on her without strong external compulsion.”

The old warlord turned back towards his diminutive Master, and Ilya felt drawn into those ancient, fiery red eyes as the rumbling voice continued.

“Think, girl. Your family clearly  _ loves _ you, that’s why you were practically vivisected and ambushed several times. The castle they are giving you was the base of your father, who I’m told had an unhealthy fascination for traps and explosives, and who blew up parts of the castle to kill an intruder.” A bone-rattling chuckle. “Do you honestly believe that your precious clan members even tried to check whether all boobytraps are gone? Do you think they could have found them, at all?”

“Do not dare to talk to me about my father, Wrex!” Ilya’s hair swirled in the sudden breeze, daggers of intricate tapestry forming above and behind her, aiming at her Servant, her Command Seals glowing in preparation. The krogan chuckled, and shook his head.

“Oh yes, your infamous father who betrayed your clan a decade ago, and left you here to rot.” Ilya was suddenly face to face with the huge krogan, those wise, ancient eyes boring into her soul. “Or so claim your loving relatives here. The very same relatives who would love to kill or dissect you, and have already tried it multiple times.”

Ilya opened her mouth, a scathing condemnation on her tongue, before she paused. Seeing that, Wrex nodded, and continued.

“Sure, he is a bastard for letting you suffer here, but do not ever take the information you have from creatures like your clan without a very large grain of salt.” He grinned at the indignant Sella. “Present company excepted. Anyone who can make such quality food has to be honest, I think.”

Ilya had to work very hard to suppress the urge to facepalm at that. Her Servant was at times definitely insane. Even when he made a very good point or two. She decided that with Wrex at her side, she could listen to her father trying to explain himself, before she killed him and the brat that he took in as a replacement for her. Yes. When she killed the Emiyas, it would be because of her choice, not because of family honor or duty.

++++++

_ Finland; 39 day until the Fifth Holy Grail War _

Luvia leaned back in the plush chair of her opulent living room, sipping from her tea as she studied the blue-skinned female sitting across her. The Servant flashed a small thankful smile at Sebastian when the butler offered her tea, and held the cup with unconscious grace and elegance. She obviously came from high society - not that it was surprising to Luvia. After all, a noble like her would likely summon someone of similar standing and ability. Sure, she did not get her intended Servant, but in hindsight, that may have been in her favor - Medea of Colchis was not named the Witch of Betrayal for nothing. And at the very least, she could hold quite interesting conversations with Liara, both of them appreciating history and the attendant mysteries - albeit from a somewhat different point of view. 

Still, it felt somewhat surreal to sit in the heart of her domain conversing with a Heroic Spirit, and an alien to boot. Luvia minutely shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the immediate future and the upcoming war. Her Servant faintly smiled and placed her teacup daintily on the table, before she focused on the blonde magus.

“I have received information that the Einzbern Master is moving already - it seems they want to get a headstart, and renew their base in Fuyuki.” Luvia lifted a hand to her mouth, failing to mask the satisfied smirk - then she gave in to the impulse and laughed. Her Servant perked an eyebrow - well, she guessed those white lines were practically eyebrows; it was a little hard to tell with an actual alien.

“Oh?”

“Apparently, they are reusing their resources from the previous War. Sure, they are being discreet and are using middlemen, but they forgot that money does not only talk, it can also listen very, very well.”

The Servant smirked at her, and an orange glow surrounded her left forearm. Transparent screens materialized between them, showing maps, faces, building blueprints and detailed dossiers of known Einzbern associates - as well as people involved in the Moonlit World who were still alive and were known to be familiar with the Einzbern Master of the former War. Luvia cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“Interesting - you think that they may involve outsiders again, after the debacle of the Fourth War?”

“It never hurts to be prepared. After all, information is victory - and that is more true in the world of magi than almost anywhere else.”

Luvia smiled, showing teeth, not even trying to suppress or mask her laughter this time. Yes, she definitely lucked out with her Servant.

++++++

_ London, 35 day until the Fifth Holy Grail War _

The young man adjusted his glasses before checking the ritual circle again. He had no reason to think that Lord El-Melloi would need such an elaborate method for killing or humiliating him (especially considering the current incumbent of said title), but still, they both were magi. Satisfied that the complex circle matched the description both his teacher and the old diary provided, the young man started chanting, the three symbols on his hand becoming more and more defined as the power swirling in the summoning chamber increased. At the ritual’s apex, he could feel the bond springing into life, felt the drain on his circuits, yet there was nothing in the circle. The young man reached out with his senses and magic alike, searching for something, anything to indicate where his Servant disappeared to.

“I am here.” The scratchy, husky voice sounded right next to his ear, and Caules whirled around, his heartrate spiking as he prepared to defend himself, yet there was still only darkness and shadows.

“Do not worry - you are my Master.” A chuckle, and the shadows moved - and the young magus’ jaw dropped as his Servant stepped into the light. The Heroic Spirit wore a stylish black frock coat with high collar leaving his chest partially naked. Sturdy boots and armored black pants completed the clothing, but it was not the decidedly modern style that had Caules wondering whether he was mad. No, it was more the fact that the Servant was not human. The green skin (with a faint scalelike pattern barely discernible on it), the pupil-less ebony eyes, the gill-like throat, the odd skull all pointed clearly at his (?) nonhuman origins. “I am Servant Assassin, at your service.” 


	4. Chapter 4

_ Aboard the  _ **_Norwegian Crown_ ** _ in the Mediterranean Sea; 32 days until the Fifth Grail War _

“Could you perhaps be less smug? Just because you were right, you should not be this insufferable.” Ilya pouted at her Servant, who simply chuckled at her. The albino waif’s eyes narrowed as she studied the old warlord. “If you do not stop it and play nice, I’ll have you swim laps around the ship, old turtle.”

Sella winced at her ward’s threat, and even Leysritt looked at Wrex warily when the krogan loomed over the diminutive Ilya, his eyes narrowed, stance radiating barely restrained fury. The slender maid started as she realized that the Servant’s posture was just an empty gesture, and judging by the way Ilya’s lips quirked, she too figured it out. Wrex leaned back, his rumbling chuckle relaxing all three homunculi.

“Nice one for a beginner, kid.” The warlord’s face turned serious. “Nevertheless, now you understand why I did not want you to take the established route and transport, right?”

Ilya sighed, dropping the newspaper, as she gestured towards Wrex.

“Yes, the Einzbern clan obviously has a security problem - well, more than one.” She amended, glaring at her smug Servant. “Based on the scant information available, I do not think a Servant was behind this; unless...”

“Unless what?” The krogan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know which Servants have been summoned? Or who they are?”

Ilya cocked her head, concentrating inwards, communing with the parts of her that were the vessel of the Grail.

“Aside from you, Caster and … ” She sighed, dropping her head on the table “Assassin. Of course.” She raised her head a fraction, glaring at the warlord. “Still, there is basically no way that even Assassin could be responsible for blowing up the plane - I’m not questioning its ability, but the timing.” 

“Because obviously the other two early birds could never guess that the Einzbern would take part in another Grail War, right? It’s not like your clan is ever involved, am I correct?”

“Just spit it out, Wrex.” Ilya sighed, dropping her head again.

“I don’t need to, you already know what I want to say.” He reached out with a huge hand, and ruffled the albino’s hair. “You’ve got a keen mind, when you decide to use it, girl.”

“I will use a Command Seal to send you swimming laps, old fossil.”

The satisfied, rumbling laugh of the dematerializing Servant rattled the cutlery of the cabin.

“I hate it when he does that, you know.” Ilya’s voice was in no way petulant and whiny.

“Yes, Mistress, I believe you mentioned it once or twice.”

Ilya’s eyes narrowed as she lifted her head and glared at Sella, who was standing with perfect posture and an impassive, serious face, then at Leysritt, who waved lazily from the deck chair before she leaned back to enjoy the sun. The young magus sighed again.

“He’s even infecting my maids, whose minds are supposedly proof against external tampering.”

++++++

_ Ireland, 28 day until the Fifth Grail War _

The suit-clad Enforcer checked her equipment once more, paying special attention to the slim metal case housing her family legacy. She adjusted her gloves, satisfied with the fit and the status of the runic array woven into the material. The chosen catalyst for the summoning was already in the center of the summoning circle, attuned to both her and the array of symbols that would allow her to finally meet the legend she considered her personal hero and example.

With a shake of her head, she dispelled the bothersome thoughts; focus and calmness was needed here, if she were to succeed. The syllables of the old tongue reverberated on the clearing, both the summoning circle and the surrounding runes pulsing in time with her chanting - it may have been just her imagination, but it was almost as if someone was watching her with encouragement as she struggled with the almost-gone language. The runes surrounding the circle danced and shifted in dizzying patterns, motes of kaleidoscopic light flashing around the young woman as her voice rose to a crescendo, her mind calling for her childhood idol as her voice summoned a partner in battle.

The shifting runes stopped and flashed with a blinding light and Bazett closed her eyes for a split second, feeling the back of her hand heat up and prickle, as her circuits poured prana into the summoned being, and the bond flared into existence within her mind, a kaleidoscopic whirl of lightning-fast thoughts and perceptions rushing across her for a brief moment, before a calmness suffused the bond.

She opened her eyes, a small, eager smile on her lips as she looked towards the figure of her childhood tales. Surely, that inhuman reaction speed and situational awareness signified the Hound of Ulster, who stood in the middle of the circle, his ophidian eyes flickering rapidly as he studied the ritual circle.

Wait, what?

Bazett Fraga McRemitz blinked, then blinked again. Then once more, before she checked her hip flask, which was still full. She shook her head before circulating prana in her circuits, reinforcing her senses to ensure that she was not under an illusion or hallucinating.

No luck. She was awake, her mental and physical state unimpaired, her spellwork perfect - still, that was not Cu Chulainn before her!

The being looked like a biped lizard, its wrinkly skin likely a sign of age, while the missing cranial horn hinted at its ability to survive dangers. It looked frail, thin, yet there was something in its posture, the way it held itself with such inhuman control, almost like it was ready to snap into motion at any second to…

“Hm, female human, posture, body language indicating extensive martial training, clothes designed to blend in with current normal society. Also, fabric indicates reinforcement, likely for combat purposes.” Blink-click. “Extra runes around summoning circle, showing marked familiarity with craft, injecting personal style, aptitude.” Blink-click. “Assuredly I was not primary target for summoning, nevertheless am here, both have to deal with circumstances, however unfortunate. Will do best to support summoner in reaching aims.” Flash-smile. “Not first time working with human female talented in combat. Did not disappoint then, will not disappoint now.” Exhale. “Servant Lancer ready to support you.”

Bazett Fraga McRemitz, Enforcer of the Clock Tower, heir to her clan’s ancient mysteries and pedigree, well-versed in the weirdness of the Moonlit World, barely hesitated before voicing the most appropriate reaction to the Lancer-class Heroic Spirit she summoned as her partner for the Fifth Holy Grail War.

“What.”


	5. Chapter 5

_ Singapore-Changi, 25 days until the Fifth Grail War _

The bustle of the airport was somewhat suffocating for Ilya - most of her life was spent within Einzbern Castle, with only the clan members as company, and the past few weeks traveling with Sella, Leysritt and Wrex were insufficient to fully prepare her for accepting such chaotic, humongous crowds. The humidity and heat did not help her mood, either - and neither did the looks the three of them were getting. Admittedly, a trio of red-eyed, white-haired women would have stood out pretty much anywhere except at home and maybe at the Clock Tower. Still, an inordinately amount of glances made her feel downright disgusted - sure, people looking at the rather loosely dressed Leysritt was a given (and it’s not like the busty homunculus minded, quite the opposite), but Sella also got a surprising amount of those looks … as did Ilya herself. 

At least nobody dared to touch or accost them - after the fourth or fifth attempt when the would-be Don Juan felt as if standing before a firing squad of ravenous sharks, people learned the lesson. And the Einzbern Master once again concluded that having Wrex around had surprising but definite benefits.

In a few hours, they would be in Japan, almost within reach of her goal. She would finally face her half-brother and get some answers from her father. Yes, the reckoning was coming close, and she felt rather confident about her chances, never mind whom that boy would summon.

She smiled faintly - to think that in less than a month, she got so used to having an alien as her Servant, instead of the mighty Heracles she originally planned to summon. All in all, it was an even trade in her consideration.

++++++

_ Hongkong, 24 days until the Fifth Grail War _

Luvia knelt opposite Caster at the small table, the two of them enjoying the expertly brewed tea, as the two women considered their situation.

“I’m sorry, but the Einzbern did manage to slip by our agents.” Liara sipped demurely, a number of screens hovering at her side, various camera feeds, newspaper excerpts, phone logs scrolling across them. “The technological limitations and the insufficient timeframe resulted in the failed attempt. Also, there is the fact that somebody in the clan has at least a halfway decent working brain.”

Luvia laughed.

“I assume you mean that someone realized using the tried and true methods might backfire on them.” The young noble shrugged, schooling her thick blonde locks. “After they hired the Magus Killer in the previous War, we both knew that it would be a long shot.”

Liara nodded, before frowning at something. Her Master narrowed her eyes, as she gazed at the asari immersed in her magic.

“Still, the resources invested in creating and protecting that travelling detail were substantial … and the tactics, the fieldwork familiar. I just cannot place it.”

Luvia made a dismissive gesture.

“No sense beating yourself over it.” She sipped her tea. “As for the mind behind it all, well, if we are right about the prospective Master and the class of her Servant, it’s unlikely that it’s someone you know.” The human grinned. “Well, at least not personally, considering you both reached the Throne. Unless you remember someone who qualifies as a berserker while being able to plan cover operations amongst aliens.”

The cup slipped from Liara’s numb fingers, and Luvia could barely catch it before it hit the floor. Her Servant paled (well, went a much lighter shade of blue, but surely that was the same effect), and gulped, shivering.

“Liara? Something I should know?”

“Well, there are a couple of possibilities that come to mind, none of them particularly appealing...” 

++++++

_ Matou residence, 21 days until the Fifth Grail War _

The girl did not let the constant, maddening susurration of thousands of insects distract her from the ritual forced on her by her grandfather. The old monster personally supervised her work on the summoning circle, pronouncing it adequate for their current purpose. In the dank depths of the immense chamber where she spent so much time in the past decade, there was an unprecedented amount of worm-free surface - even though juvenile Crest Worms swarmed over the lines of the circle, consuming themselves to further power the summoning ritual.

Sakura started to chant the words of power, sparks of life and pleasure flashed in her otherwise dull, dark eyes, as the Crest Worms within her body writhed in eager anticipation, unleashing waves of mind-numbing desire and ecstasy within her mind, driving her to ever greater heights - even threatening her control, which barely happened these days. Shinji, standing behind her, never noticed when her breathing changed ever so slightly, or when her body shivered from the physical feedback. Zouken did - and the old magus smiled, a corpse’s rictus grin on his ancient visage.

The tapestry of worms undulated in excited adoration, the writhing chorus of susurration a hymn of eager anticipation as prana flooded the summoning array, boring a way to the Throne, and singing a siren song of yearning for the desired Heroic Spirit. The symbols drawn in worms on the dank stone flashed in a myriad dazzling, dizzying colors simultaneously, the component juvenile worms searing away under the tidal wave of onrushing, ancient power, as the herald from an age long gone stepped forth from the maelstrom of prana to stand in the center of the pentagram.

Despite her outward apathy and self-control, Sakura could not suppress a gasp as she beheld the being that materialized before them. Already at a cursory glance, it was obvious that she failed to summon Medusa, the Gorgon Queen - and she could feel the mocking derision of Shinji behind, while Zouken’s disdain and cruel uncaringness cut into her from across. The summoned creature stood tall, clad in a segmented, insectlike samurai armor of royal purple. Four yellow eyes with black, perhaps hourglass-shaped pupils watched her, as the narrow slit of a mouth pulled into a sneer of disdain.

Sakura gasped, swayed as her grandfather’s ire at her failure sent the worms within her body into overdrive, the pests flooding her senses with unwanted heat. Her breaths coming in short, quick gasps, her heartbeat a staccato drumming in her ears, she could not understand or even perceive anything outside her own body for a few moments as she fought for control.

“Useless bitch, she could not even perform a ritual after a decade of coaching and direct supervision.” Shinji stepped forward, and backhanded Sakura, sending the girl tottering forward - she would have fallen when she tripped over the uneven tiles of the floor, had the summoned creature not steadied her. The Heroic Spirit bowed its head forward, eyes closed for a second as if in contemplation, as Sakura moaned, shivering deliriously.

“In my cycle, worms and talentless parasites alike knew their place.” The cold, disdainful voice dripped with the promise of violence. “As I walk amongst mortals again, it is still my cycle. Do I make myself clear?” Greenish-white energy played along the Servant’s form before a slight twitch of a hand sent the energy to burn away the wave of worms and insects intent on burying it and its Master. The creature sneered at the silent Zouken who radiated barely restrained fury, then it spared a glance at the swiftly paling Shinji. “Do not try to cause further harm to my Master - unless you would enjoy tasting my vengeance.” The sneer sharpened into a bloodthirsty grin, showing teeth, as prana pooled into the Servant’s hand, straining to be unleashed. “That is, would you prefer to be boiled or fried?”

With a manly battlecry echoing off the dark, damp walls, Shinji adjourned to his room to contemplate his available courses of actions, along with his suddenly altered future prospects.

Zouken tilted his head to the side, then spoke.

“You answered her call. You are still here. I assume you will assist her in getting the Grail.”

“If that’s what she wants.” The Servant’s sneer dripped disdain.

“She wants what I do, familiar. Do not forget that - and keep in mind that I can stop her existence at any moment; which will leave you dead as well.” Zouken spared one more glance at his recovering granddaughter, then vanished into the mass of shadows and insects.

Cold, grim laughter echoed in the worm-ridden depths under the Matou residence, and for a moment, a green-white halo played around Sakura’s semiconscious body.


	6. Chapter 6

Ilya dreams. 

As so often in the last decade, shadows and dark whispers haunt her, rising from the depths of her subconscious, amplified by the betrayals and abandonment she suffered. Her beloved mother, the only fully cognizant member of her clan (and no, Sella and Leys do not count, being specifically designed as her caretakers) who showered her with so much affection - before she was torn away by her father and the cruel necessities of war. Her father, the distant, cold, calculating man, who planned the betrayal and played the role of the loving husband and father for close to ten years, only to snap his own daughter’s neck in the end, with sadistic glee in his eyes. Aunt Maiya, who always behaved so coldly, distantly, her eyes flickering with jealousy when she watched Ilya’s parents - and who stood aside, allowing the Executor to ram a trio of Black Keys through Irisviel’s body, condemning her to oblivion. The indistinct outline of a boy, who took Ilya’s place at her father’s side - another tool of the Magus Killer to ensure that his damned legacy would continue, someone to inherit his Family Crest and secrets alike. 

Yes, Ilya knows them, sees them in the soft embrace of sleep. The urge to enact justice, to avenge her slights, the incalculable, horrific betrayal those close to her had done is, as always, tinting her dreams with crimson shadows.

Yet recently, there are other dreams, feelings smashing their way into her restlessly flitting mind. Visions from another, distant place, a desert planet where death is a constant fact of life. A warrior race in slow decline. A young leader betrayed and almost killed by his father, breaking sacred trust and bonds of blood alike. Grim images of battlefields drenched in blood, the former leader venting his rage, trying to forget, to heal the wound on his soul. She can feel the bleak, self-destructing future looming before - and then the other images come. Emerald eyes under a mop of fiery hair. A sleek vessel, a home away from home. A krannt, once more - a place, a company to belong to. Family, despite the lack of blood ties - or rather, forged by shedding blood alongside each other. Facing mind-bogglingly vast and powerful beings from the dawn of time - without fear or regrets. Dragging a dying race back from the brink, giving them a future. Standing against the terror from the void, always a bulwark against the nameless shadows, no longer alone - and the wound in his heart but a memory, never forgotten, but never again dominating his mind.

And Ilya wakes up, her eyes looking for her Servant, the solid presence materializing at her side, a hand gently ruffling her hair.

++++++

Sakura dreams.

Such occasions are a luxury for her after spending a decade in Zouken’s vicinity - she dare not allow herself to relax her control, lest he worm his way into her soul deeper than he already has. Those rare occasions are when she can gird herself to endure further, to keep hanging on. Even then, the darkness is a constant companion to her, shadows writhing in the murky recesses of her mind, urging her to take revenge on her sister, to give the lucky older girl a taste what she was forced to live through - and she knows, feels that but a fraction would break the other, and it would be so easy, so enjoyable, so endlessly satisfying and just. At other times, she dreams of her senpai, her main source of strength, the one person she hopes, desires to reach out and save her from the morass of corruption - yet simultaneously, the one she dares not even show a hint of how stained, how corrupted she actually is. She knows all too well that if senpai were to turn his back on her, she would break; or worse, give in to her desire to drag him down with her, to have and possess him, to use and be used by the clueless boy. 

And always, she feels Zouken nearby, the old monster ever circling her, probing again and again at her defenses, trying to nudge her to a more suitable direction, mold her into a more obedient, useful tool in his quest for Akasha. Even the parasite she calls her brother is but another of the ancient’s pawns, useful only to break and degrade her. She can barely pity him. She wants to show him the darkness within, paint the walls and sheets with his diluted, diseased blood. She wants to drown Zouken in a tide of burning shadows. She wants to feel senpai's hands around her waist, his lips on hers as they watch the world succumb to darkness.

A faint, greenish-white tinge at the edges of her dream-vision. Four cold, pitiless yellow eyes blaze in the darkness, the ever-present whispering, slithering shadows within and around her cowering under the pressure of untold millennia. Dimly, she is aware of the kaleidoscopic tapestry of horrors that send a surge of desire pulsing through the darkness within, as a whole species is driven to extinction, turned and mutilated into mindless servitude to grind away the pitiful few survivors until only one remains. She feels the pull of madness and despair during the long, cold sleep of the ages, with trillions of voices declaiming him for failure, exhorting him to take revenge - and then the other images show up. Blazing emerald eyes under a mop of fiery hair. A scion of the once-primitive race, an adequate inheritor of the mantle and duty left behind. Others flicker along as well - young, primitive races, yet they treat him as a companion. They give him a chance for vengeance; yet they never let him face the trials alone. The fight against all odds, holding back, then turning the tide of void-dwelling darkness, burning it to ashes in the end, as the voices of a dead race howl triumphantly as their ancient killers are torn apart in the fury of the galaxy.

Sakura starts awake with a muffled cry, wide eyes looking for her Servant. The ancient warrior takes form near her bed, yellow eyes burning into dull purple, and his voice is but a soft hiss in her ears.

“Despair is a most potent weapon in the hands of monsters. Do not succumb to it now, Tohsaka Sakura.”

++++++

Within the depths of the Greater Grail, the entity/being identifying itself as Angra Mainyu stirred. It felt there was something off about these summonings - yes, they were happening as foreseen, but it could feel the outside interference, the slight pulls on the skeins of fate. It would need to take steps as well, it could not allow free reign to those who would deny its birth. Shadows stirred and fumbled blindly around, the leylines fluctuating in answer, as hundreds of sensitive mortals in the Pacific region woke screaming, their minds blessed with a glimpse of what was to come.

++++++

In a forbidding temple in Fuyuki, a heartless priest and the primordial king shared a glance, as they both felt a distant pull, a gentle caress - as if formless digits caressed them gently, with loving cruelty. Their time to step into the light and take center stage was coming soon - and they both rejoiced in that knowledge.

++++++

In Kowloon, a blond magus stared with equal measure of dread and elation at the trio of marks shimmered faintly on the back of his hand. His maids, despite their conditioning and experience, shivered at his cackling.

++++++

In a distant station, a bearded Ancestor frowned and leaned a bit forward in his chair as the complex array before him shifted, an extra layer shimmering to existence, like an oil slick over water. After a brief contemplation, he leaned back with a smirk to continue basking in the radiance of the ever-shifting blue star.

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, 14 days until the Fifth Grail War _

Rin checked the summoning circle for the third time, painstakingly comparing it to the one outlined in her father’s notes from the previous Grail War. She carefully laid out the gems in the required pattern, internally lamenting the loss of the rather expensive and powerful tools of her family heritage. Still, it could not be helped - and when she held the Grail in her hands, material vanities like these would be of no concern.

She knew she would summon an extraordinary Servant; her father before had summoned the King of Heroes, and unlike him, Rin was an Average One, armed with one more generation’s knowledge and power. Coupled with her innate intellect, meticulous research, attention to detail (she even remembered to account for the discrepancy in her home’s timepieces!) and sheer determination, Rin felt an unwavering certainty as she stepped close to the summoning circle, and started to chant.

The German words flowed easily, the entreaties to the family’s actual distant ancestor (of which connection she was not supposed to know but being an inquisitive child, she found out from a dusty journal) echoing within the vault under her family manor. The lines and symbols shone with a blue radiance, her long hair and short skirt both ruffled by the swirling winds of prana as she channeled ever more power into the summoning. Her mind was calm, focused, fully immersed into the ritual.

She did everything correctly, accounted for all possible mishaps, was prepared for any distractions - except a sudden tremor in the leylines of her city, that is. For but a brief moment, the Second Owner and the Master of the Grail War had to focus on different issues - and that was enough to send her power out of control. 

The summoning circle flared with a dizzying, blinding array of insane colors, forcing Rin to shield her eyes from the glare. The prana invested into the ritual dispersed with a deafening explosion that shook the manor, and the young magus could hear sounds of destruction from above.

She raced up from the basement, her Crest lighting up with power, a Gandr forming at the tip of her finger as she got ready to lay waste the intruder who dared to force its way into her home and ruin her carefully-laid plans. With a gesture and a short chant, she dispersed the dust cloud obscuring the room, her body moving on autopilot as she tensed for fight.

Then she saw the creature, and her jaw dropped, not even noticing the Command Seals on her hand forming fully, and the carefully calibrated bond snapping into existence between them.

No, Rin’s focus was more taken by the fact that there was a tall alien lazing on one of her just recently dilapidated couches. The creature reminded her of a bipedal dinosaur wearing a high-tech, silver-blue armor, its predatory mandibles flaring as it saw her, the blue eyes twinkling with humor (did he just wink at her?), the scarring at one side of its face lending him a dangerous charm. The mandibles twitched again, as the lipless maw moved, forming words.

“Nice place.” His eyes lingered on the elegant, Old World furniture, the 18th century silverware, and the various, strategically placed knicknacks. “You don’t usually see stuff like this outside a very classy antiques shop, at least not in my time.”

Rin had to fight off a blush. That flanging, warm voice, with the undertone of wry humor…

“The scenery in front of me isn’t half bad either.”

Rin flushed scarlet, her previously lowered hand rose anew, the dark glow of a fully charged Gandr forming at her fingertip, her stance shifting to combat readiness. The walking dinosaur laughed, the sound sending shivers down her spine - yet she still spotted the expert, assessing gaze of the Servant that flitted across her form, cataloguing her posture and tells. The being rose, towering over her, its mandibles flaring in a wry grin.

“Ease off, Master - unless you really want to test my reach and your flexibility this soon into our working relationship.” He nodded towards her, his voice becoming more formal. “Servant Archer; or you could just call me Archangel, for old times’ sake.”

The young magus knew then and there that her Servant would be the source of a lot of headache for her.


	7. Chapter 7

_ Fuyuki City, 12 days until the Fifth Grail War _

Bazett sighed as she counted her remaining funds - she still did not fully understand why her Servant insisted on not using the Kotomine Church as a basis of operations. It would have been a much more cost-efficient option, and from a tactical perspective, the ability to observe all Masters who declared their willingness to participate would have been useful - especially since she could rely on her skills and runes to follow them later on.

“Unlikely. Magi reluctant to take risk personally, would have sent single-use familiars. No way to track them to their actual hideout that way.” Exhale. “Mental picture of Kotomine … worrying. Not worthy of trust. Too cold. Too distant. Likely has ulterior motive. As Master in former War, likely unrealized wish.” Blink-click. “Might attempt to kill you and take Command Seals.” Flash-smirk. “Would oppose the idea. Things get messy. Better this way.”

“You think you’re pretty good at reading people, Mordin?” She did not mean the question to come out that sharp or that cold. Still, the salarian just flashed another smile at her.

“Have studied countless sentients from many races. Can be wrong about specifics, but get generics correct in most cases. Degree in xenopsychology helps. Also, worked with humans before, extensively. Gained insight into species psyche while still alive. Throne only improved on that.” Flash-smirk. “Can read most humans like open book. Happen to enjoy reading, especially intriguing ones.”

Bazett, who was stretching in preparation of her usual daily exercise, felt a strange urge to cover up - or maybe put a bit more emphasis on her movements? She did not know, but she put extra effort into the sparring session, forcing the salarian on the defensive several times.

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, 10 days until the Fifth Grail War _

“I’ll admit to be somewhat apprehensive about Kirei Kotomine.” Liara smiled thankfully at Sebastian as he placed a platter of tea and biscuits in front of her. “I find it curious that the mediator assigned by the Church is a Master from a previous war. Admittedly, this could be a simple coincidence prompted by the irregular timing of the Fifth War, but”

“But you do not really think so.” Luvia sipped demurely from her tea. Her eyes narrowed in thought as she looked at her Servant. “Care to explain why?”

“As a former participant, he must have had a wish strong enough to attain the Command Seals - yet he deliberately stepped aside, and supposedly sacrificed his own Servant.” The asari’s lips turned down. “And the explanations for his survival, as well as for the death of his father, the Overseer of the Fourth War, are rather sketchy.” Orange screens opened in the air between them, displaying reports, newspaper articles, police statistics, medical records - a deluge of information that Luvia still found somewhat overwhelming. Her Servant seemed to have no problem with processing the flood of data. “I suspect he made a pact with at least another participant, and later a Servant, to ensure his win and survival - but he underestimated either the Tohsaka or the Einzbern Master.” 

“Why do you think he made a pact with a Servant? What could he offer to a Heroic Spirit?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about. My first guess would have been incarnation, but sustaining a Heroic Spirit for a decade would require a notable amount of power. Nothing indicates that Kirei Kotomine possesses the required magical aptitude for that. There’s no indication that he tampered with the leylines or resorted to draining mortals - and at any rate, either of those options would have aroused the suspicion of the Second Owner, no matter how young she is.” 

“So, no proof, nothing specific. Just a feeling.” Liara nodded, clearly dissatisfied with the state of affairs. Luvia grinned. “Well, I think it would be wise of me to strongly consider the advice and instincts of my Servant, now wouldn’t it? Why else summon such a magnificent Heroic Spirit, after all?”

Sebastian winced inwardly as both Master and Servant shared a demure, eerily identical chuckle. Yeah, he might have to ask for a raise next time.

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, 9 days until the Fifth Grail War _

Sakura felt as if she was floating - then again, that was a persistent, constant occurrence whenever she was with her senpai. Standing close to his side, the two of them working as one to prepare another culinary miracle in the cutting-edge kitchen of the Emiya residence, she was honestly content.

For about a few minutes at least.

Then, she had to redirect a small portion of her focus and awareness towards her astralized Servant. She could almost physically feel the oppressive weight of his focused regard, and she worried that her senpai, dense though he was, would pick up on the preternatural atmosphere. 

“Is there trouble, Rider?” Her telepathic enquiry was met with surprisingly less scorn than usual.

“Apart from the irritating obtuseness both you and your chosen mate exhibit towards each other, nothing.” His mental voice filled with cold amusement at her sputtering blush, and she could only hope that nothing reflected on her face. “Neither of the two claiming relation to you are nearby; I believe that Shinji worm has learned to leave you alone, and Zouken is wary of pushing too hard.” 

“Really, Rider, Shinji’s not that bad.” Strange. Even in a scant week or so, she arrived at a point where she herself could hear the lie and self-deception in her words. “Anyway, something seems to have grabbed your attention, and I’d appreciate it if you informed me if senpai was in any kind of danger.”

The Servant snorted.

“The only danger to him is his own ignorance. You really should just cut the chase short, and consummate a relationship with him.” An exasperated grunt. “At least you two belong to the same species.”

Sakura felt her face combust - and the images evoked by her Servant’s words had an effect elsewhere as well. Perhaps that was why her mental voice gained a not-inconsiderate edge and heat.

“Javik...”

“Hrrm. If you must know, I am curious about those fish you use.”

++++++

_ Kowloon, 7 days until the Fifth Grail War _

The fluid-filled cylinders of reinforced glass shone with an inner light as their contents pulsed in time with the ritual chanting of the quartet of dolls standing at the four cardinal directions at the outer edge of the summoning circle. Their master basked for a moment in the steady flow of prana suffusing the air of the chamber, before he once again bent his focus towards the ritual itself, his baritone smoothly guiding and leading the choir of female voices. The blond magus did not care that the technically-alive girls within the tanks shrivelled and died, their essence fuelling the crude battering ram of his will as he battered at the barriers of the Throne to claim his rightful due.

A minute, dissonant syllable from one of his dolls stoked the fire of his wrath, he only held back on disciplining the wretch because of the already-delicate situation of the ritual. Coughing up scalding blood was no reason for any of them to break their concentration. It seemed that he would have to reinforce his will on the surviving dolls - if there would be any. 

Atrum Galliasta focused his attention anew, drawing deeper on his dolls’ reserves, uncaring for their physical state; after all, broken dolls were easily replaced. Four figures swayed in unison, before dropping to the floor, their flesh scalded from within as their circuits burned from the inordinate amount of prana drawn through them. Shadows danced along the walls, caressed the twitching shapes on the floor and in the cylinders around; their suffocating touch turning clothing, flesh and blood to the black of the void before consuming them without a trace.

The magus paid no attention to any of that, his eyes burning with unholy fervor as the vortex of prana above the summoning circle pulsed and darkened rapidly, before imploding with an eye-searing flash of riotous colors. Even before he regained his sight and hearing, he could feel the presence of the Heroic Spirit as a blade against a naked eyeball, as a caress of sharpened metal over the soft skin leaving crimson lines in its wake. The figure wore black and silver body armor, a strange double hexagon serving as an insignia on his chest. His coarse, shoulder-length black hair was unbound, his eyes hidden behind a half-mask or visor that seemingly was embedded within his face itself. On his back the man carried a short, straight sword - and Atrum had the distinct feeling that the Heroic Spirit possessed other weapons as well, hidden skillfully.

The Servant’s lips peeled back in a smug, eager smirk of cruelty as he took in his surroundings.

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Master.” There was perhaps a hint of mockery in the bow he performed. “Servant Avenger, at your service.”


	8. Chapter 8

Luvia dreams.

Usually, her dreams involve typical issues interesting for young female magi who are invested in a somewhat mercenary career - that is, finding a compatible donor for an offspring, achieving fame, fortune, prestige … and of course look fabulous and elegant while doing all this. Even when in the arms of Morpheus, she strives to maintain the old school nobility, as opposed to the jumped-up, closeted entitlement all too common in the Clock Tower nowadays. Yes, she does have the occasional dream or two involving fellow students or even an instructor or two (admittedly, she’s not the only one who thinks of Lord El-Melloi II that way), but still, those are normal, mundane jaunts in the ephemeral realm. Barely any dismemberment, vivisection, blood and offal feature in any of them - after all, she does see enough of those when awake. Thankfully, being a noble means having an exceptional mental fortitude and self-control, allowing her to disregard such unpleasant memories when resting.

Despite all that, or perhaps rather because of that, there is a particular matter of family honor and history which always succeeds to drive her to icy fury - the closely guarded shame of the Edelfelts during the Third Holy Grail War, their ancient feud against the barbarian Tohsakas. And ever since the faint outlines of the Command Seals appeared on her hand, she dreams about taking just revenge. She sees the black-haired young family head standing tall against her, the stolen Jewel Magic and Finnish curses outlining her in a glow of power. She sees the Tohsaka fall back, bloodied and battered, her weak, unrefined skills no match for Luvia’s might and fury. She sees the thief’s descendant grovelling in the dust, whining for mercy. She glowers down on the Asian witch whose spine is broken by Luvia’s reinforced strength, the blonde woman’s hand glowing with power as she brings down her fist, crushing joints, ribs, skull, feeling the hot, delightful spattering of blood against her cheek, rejoices in the iron taste filling her mouth as her grin widens to an inhuman leer of bloodlust.

The dark dreams are held at bay by the other, unnervingly alien snippets from her Servant’s mind. Far-off vistas of alien beauty, a distant yet caring elder asari looking at her with pride as she’s digging in the dirt. Remote, lonely years merge into one another as she searches for proof of her theories. The nerve-wracking terror of fleeing an overwhelming enemy, bloodlust and cold mechanical precision in her wake, as she traps herself. The first impression of her savior sends Luvia reeling, as emerald eyes twinkle at her from under a mop of fiery hair. Closeness, affection, a chase after the past to shelter the future. Rage follows along with burning shame, terror and a moment of inexcusable revulsion as she sees the broken dead shell; cold wrath follows, driving the quest for revenge, gradually losing or rather shutting off parts of herself in her single-minded pursuit. Then the shock, the unbelieving joy as the emerald eyes once again look at her, unchanged, unbroken by fate - and she is pulled along once again in the magnetic wake, delving in the past to save the uncertain future, standing against veritable gods. But not alone; never alone; those emerald eyes burning with passion and the certainty of victory, shining as a beacon, turning back the endless night.

Luvia wakes, and Caster, no, Liara smiles sadly at her.

“Do not lose yourself to revenge, Master.” Her fingers trace the human’s ringlets with infinite care, her stance and gaze bearing the weight of centuries. “It is a cold and treacherous road, unfit for one such as you.”

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, 5 days until the Fifth Grail War _

“Are you sure about this, Master?” The gravelly voice of his alien Servant was soft in Caules’ mind, and the human could feel the astralized being’s senses sharpening, as if in preparation for battle.

“I’m afraid there is not much choice, Assassin. The rules are rather clear about this part.” The young man continued on his road towards the forbidding church, prana running through his circuits in preparation for any attack. “I agree that the place is suspicious, but this is where the Church-designated overseer dwells.”

“Why not use a familiar or a remote, Master?”

“Because this is the one moment where they are forbidden, unfortunately.” A trace of wry humor entered the young man’s voice. “I suspect this is also a test to see if us magi really have the necessary courage to risk our lives in the War.” He took a deep breath. “Stay astralized, but be ready in case of an attack.”

Caules could feel the mental nod of his Servant, then the drell faded even from his awareness as the young magus entered the cool, gloomy nave of the church, heading straight towards the tall man standing at the altar. The priest turned around, and Caules had to suppress a shiver as the empty, dead gaze focused on him.

“Welcome, young man. Have you come to partake in the sacraments of the Lord?” Despite the smooth, cultured baritone voice, there was some mocking undertone which set Caules’ nerves on edge. “Perchance you are a lamb, seeking direction and guidance?”

A quick glance and a pulse of searching prana confirmed the young magus’ impression that they were alone in the temple. 

“I am Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia, Master of Assassin, and I am here to announce my decision to take part in the Fifth Holy Grail War.” For a brief moment, the Command Seals pulsed with a dark green light on the back of his raised hand, and the priest raised an eyebrow.

“Really, young man?” The priest slowly walked from the altar, his hands behind his back, as he started to go around the rows of pews, slowly circling the young magus. “Are you aware of the stakes and dangers involved? Are you willing to set yourself against merciless adversaries intent on flaying your very soul to deny you your prize?” An undertone of genuine curiosity seeped into the cold, dispassionate voice. “Are you willing to kill to attain victory? To damn others in your search for the Grail?” He chuckled as Caules wordlessly nodded in answer. “I wonder, what you might wish for so earnestly.”

“That is not something I am obligated to tell you, overseer.” The young magus forced his voice under control. “I believe I have fulfilled the requirements of declaring my intent in participating, so I will be taking my leave.”

“Will you not take communion, at least? After all, you are in the house of God, young man.”

An image howled into Caules’ brain, an apex predator ready to pounce on an unwary victim, ready to devour and corrupt, his Servant pointing out the extremely subtle signs of the priest tensing for confrontation - then when the young magus shook his head, not trusting his voice, Kotomine Kirei looked at him with dark amusement. Or rather, he looked at somewhere beside him, and Caules swallowed, his steps accelerating as he left the temple.

“Did he sense you?”

“Possibly; I am not familiar with the exact abilities invested in the office of Overseer.” The drell’s voice was a low rumble. “I suspect he simply inferred my presence, and had you left me outside, I am quite sure he would have killed you.”

Caules frowned.

“Killed me? I know I’m not an Enforcer, but I think I would be able to at least escape from an Executor.”

“Not from this one, Master. He is formidable. Just think back - would you have seen him preparing to strike if I was not there?”

The young magus swallowed.

“Good point.” His features turned into a sour smile. “It’s not even officially started, yet I already hate this War.”

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, 3 days before the Fifth Grail War _

Emiya Shirou’s daily routine was, until a few weeks ago, fairly peaceful and exceedingly normal, especially for an aspiring magus; well, magecraft user, technically. The changes and signs of the incoming problems were very small and innocuous by themselves, and it took Shirou quite some time before he found the likely connection - and he was not happy at all. It was happening much too early, and he did not have sufficient strength to take proper action and ensure that the casual bystanders (and likely even some, or most of the participants) of the next Holy Grail War are spared from the burning hell that birthed him.

He had no idea how it was possible or why the insane ritual his father described for him during their training started five decades earlier; the only reason he could think of was the meddling of an outside factor. That would complicate things further - and already he was forced to plan how to save people in the likely event that he himself was not chosen as a Master. Sure, his father taught him some of his craft, but with his circuits crippled almost to the point of total uselessness, Emiya Kiritsugu was far from an effective teacher in matters magical. He did, however, ensure that his adopted son appreciate the need and usefulness of mundane methods, and employ his limited, stunted magecraft as effectively as possible, raising those basic abilities (mostly neglected by modern magi) to surprising heights.

Still, Shirou was all too aware that when it came to combat against other magi, he was at a serious disadvantage - especially during a ritual like the Grail War, where he would have to face scions of ancient, venerable lineages, all possessing a family Crest and extensive magical knowledge. Moreover, he was sure that at least two, likely three people he knew personally would be involved directly, and fighting against any of them would be … problematic. 

Ok, if he was honest with himself, if the Matou representative was Shinji, then he would use the opportunity to correct the behavior of his friend so the blue-haired playboy would actually behave decently from then on … yeah, that was a very slim chance. He sighed, exasperated with his irredeemable friend.

Still, having Shinji as a Master would likely be better than having to face Sakura - especially since the girl was acting somewhat more confidently in the last few days. Come to think of it, she seemed to put particular emphasis on having fish-based food when she came around to cook, and she always made extra portions which she took with herself to the Matou residence, along with the cold, disdainful aura that clung to her wake ineffectively. She was likely forced to assist in preparing for the war in advance, either feeding the Matou Servant (as they likely already summoned one), or Shinji himself, so the self-styled heir could focus his power on the upcoming summoning.

And then there was Rin, who was certain to have a Servant available already - or if not, then she would get a top-notch one for sure. After all, she was a prodigy, the scion of a Founder family, the Second Owner of Fuyuki, and her father summoned perhaps the strongest possible Servant ever in the previous War. Yeah, going up against Rin would be difficult - especially since Shirou considered the girl a good person, just like Sakura. So there would be a chance that he could convince her to help him in sparing as many people as possible, if he worded his wish well enough.

“You really should pay more attention to your surroundings, onii-chan.” The cheerful voice shook him from his thoughts, and he tilted his head to the side as he took in the small albino girl smiling at him from the sidewalk. “Otherwise, you will summon it too late, and that will be your death.” She smirked, showing teeth, before she turned to skip away.

“Wait up, little princess!” Shirou could feel a spike of … awareness focusing on himself, from some unseen source; it was uncannily similar to being measured up by a currently content predator who was nevertheless ready and willing to strike. Still, he walked closer to the girl, leaned down, ensuring to keep his hands clearly visible and in a non-threatening position. “Are you lost? Did you get separated from your guardian? You know that it’s dangerous to walk alone at night, especially for cute girls like you.”

After all, there was no way a well-dressed, obviously foreign child would just go prancing around in a deserted street at night, right? That’s just asking for trouble, even if the local yakuza were usually well-behaved and not in the market for such - then again, there were more things that went bump in the night of the Moonlit World. 

The small girl blinked at him owlishly, confusion evident on her pale, delicate features. Shirou chuckled, scratching his nape.

“I’m sorry, I guess you are justly wary of a stranger, right?”

“Ah … er … that is, ... “ The girl glared at something unseen with all the ferocity of an indolent kitten, before she huffed and looked at Shirou, her eyes wide.

“If you want to call your parents or someone to pick you up and take you home, there is a gas station two corners down the road, you can phone from there.” Shirou dug into his wallet, extracting some coins. “Or if you allow it, I can walk you there?” 

Shirou was not sure whether the ground shook or thunder rumbled in the distance - yet the girl again huffed, her crimson eyes glaring into the empty night air, before she sighed, her porcelain features still showing confusion.

“Well fine, you may escort me to that place, as long as you don’t try anything funny.”

Shirou chuckled, and offered his hand to the girl.

“Shall we, princess?”

There was another distant rumble, just at the edge of his hearing, and the albino child pouted, as the two of them walked away to make that phone call.

++++++

_ Fuyuki City, eve of the Fifth Grail War _

Rin felt definitely annoyed and angry, and for once in the past days, it was not due to her Servant’s snark. No, it was entirely due to the fact that some random magus, likely another Master, was merrily targeting her own school, full of unaware, innocent normal people - and Shinji, whose early and painful demise would not be mourned. Still, she had to focus on the price of said demise, and as a Second Owner (not to mention a comparatively sane person), allowing another magus to slowly brainwash hundreds of people to offer themselves as slaves was not something she would condone. Well, at least not in her city; and not so wastefully.

Prana alight on her fingers, she dispelled the sigil slumbering hidden on the school building’s roof, then she stretched with a satisfied sigh.

“Not bad, little girl.”

The soft whisper came from behind and above, the voice dripping with cruel desire and a promise of violence. Rin’s eyes widened, prana flooded her body as she reinforced herself, kicking off at an angle, dashing for the edge of the roof to get away from the Servant behind her. She poured on more speed, the mental bond between her and Archer flooding with awareness about all details of the roof, wind speed and direction, friction, movement trajectories … all accompanied by a barely-perceivable undercurrent of an alien yet strangely stirring melody. She could feel a sudden spike of incandescent wrath through the bond, the already-sharp focus of her Servant gaining a chilling, inhuman clarity, as she both saw and felt the straight blade arcing for her leg. 

Rin changed directions with a burst of effort, barely jumping away from the sword, her leg caressed by the wind caused by its passing. She stumbled when landing, forced to use a hand to steady herself - and giving time for her pursuer to catch up. She scrambled backwards, tottering, her face a mask of terror.

“My Master was right, you will make a wonderful toy.”

The Servant gazed at her with a mocking sneer, his eyes hidden behind the cybernetic half-mask, shadows swirling around his form, bleeding off the straight blade he held at his side. His empty hand lifted, palm facing Rin’s thigh, a blue glow igniting within as he stepped closer - and then he paused for a heartbeat as his victim smirked triumphantly. The gem she placed exploded towards him with the force of a hurricane, obscuring her attacker, the wind shielding her from blow and blade alike. She jumped immediately towards the edge of the roof as a beam of liquid metal hit the Servant, the explosion propelling her further, sending her over and into freefall.

“Archer, handle the landing.”

“You just love to test my reach, don’t you Master.” The flanging voice was full of mirth, and she felt the arms of her materializing Servant slide under her falling form, the turian immediately kicking off after he landed, shots sparking off from the blue barrier around them, as the other Servant gave chase.

“Can you take him, Archer?”

“Sure I can. Just need to keep you safe, he likes to go for hostages and underhanded tricks.”

Rin grinned wolfishly. 

“Servant or not, if he thinks me a helpless damsel, he’s in for a rude awakening.” Her eyes narrowed as she analyzed the schoolyard for a second using Archer’s senses, then she nodded. “I’ll be fine over there, you just take out the trash.”

There was something distinctly predatory in the turian’s smirk as his mandibles flared before he set her down and turned towards the other Servant. The human-looking creature with Asian features slowed, started to circle, his palm-gun pointed at Garrus, his sword held low to the side, the shadows bubbling and frothing around him, blood-red eyes igniting within the dark. Rin swallowed, as six slender, sword-wielding figures clad in black-white armor with the same double-hexagon insignia as the pursuing Servant materialized from the shadow.

“Just give up, Vakarian - even from a vantage point, you’d have no chance. Here, you’re a sitting duck.” The sheer arrogance of the man’s tone set Rin’s teeth grating, yet she could only feel confidence and mirth through the bond.

“Seven on one, Leng? Even as a mortal, we took you on with worse odds … and won.” The turian’s stance shifted slightly, the phantoms spreading out in answer. ”And you seem to ignore that you are not the only one who ascended to the Throne.”

Her Servant’s next words would have been unheard if not for the thrum of power that echoed through their bond, as Servant Archer, no, Archangel drank deep from her circuits.

“ **_I am the scope of my gun._ ** ”

And then the schoolyard vanished in a storm of gunfire and explosions.

++++++

Emiya Shirou was, as Shinji Matou put it so often and bluntly, a sucker and a doormat. His classmates often took advantage of his willingness to help out with various chores - or even, as it was the case today, to do their chores in their places. Shirou generally did not mind, he genuinely did like helping people - still, it was somewhat inconvenient to be stuck at school long after nightfall when he should have been preparing for the Grail War, to convince Tohsaka who was huddling next to the archery building, and staring at the flashing lights and fountaining gravel at the schoolyard.

Wait, what?

Reinforcing his eyes and questing with his senses, he could feel the boundary field around the school, a hasty, imperfect work barely able to mute and dissipate sounds and light so as to keep anyone outside blissfully unaware of the battle fought within. He smiled, as his faith in Rin seemed justified - she did take her duty as Second Owner seriously and protected bystanders; even if involuntarily.

His eyes narrowed as a patch of shadows flowed across the ground towards the school idol, then Shirou’s eyes went wide as he kicked off with a burst of reinforcement, racing to shield the unaware magus from the silently rising killer wielding a sword.

++++++

Rin should have retreated further, should have heeded Archer’s advice, but she had to see, had to experience - she would not be able to call herself a proper Magus or Master if she left her Servant far behind while she engaged in tactical withdrawal. Her focus was entirely on the swirling dance of death the remaining five, well, make that four, figures conducted in the courtyard, and despite the steady drain on her prana, she felt proud and confident in her Servant. Thus, she considered it a rude interruption that someone spattered hot fluid on her face and neck. She turned her head, a pair of jewels lighting up in her hand as she opened her mouth to burn the interloper to ashes - and her jaw fell as she saw the Fake Janitor, a phantom’s blade biting into his forearm despite his attempt to block with a reinforced bokken.

A moment’s hesitation on her part, and her mind could barely process the dozen lightning-quick exchanges between the boy and the shadowborn abomination. The bokken broke under the strain, blood stained the ground and Emiya’s clothes. 

“Trace, on.”

Two words, a surge of prana, and the boy was holding an identical sword in his hand, the speed of their dance picking up even more. Rin narrowed her eyes, calculating for a heartbeat - and when her ad hoc partner forced his opponent into a bladelock, which he broke with a swift kick, Rin raised her hand, and the storm of curses ripped the shadowborn phantom to shreds.

A brief moment of exhausted panting followed, then Rin spoke.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Four more inky patches of shadow crept towards them. The two young magi looked at one another, before voicing the same thought.

“Run, I’ll hold them off!”

A brief mutual glaring, then Emiya spoke with urgency, his blade raised into a guard position.

“How about we split and run? Looks like your Servant is doing fine, so no need to worry about him … or her … it?”

Despite the situation, Rin snickered.

“He better be fine.” She glared at the boy, then nodded. “Ok, we’ll do it your way. Do not die, Emiya - I have questions for you.”

The boy gulped, nodded, then they both took off at a run.

++++++

Shirou felt his circuits burning, as he sped for his home and workshop - he would not have expected to expend this much prana in one evening, and he was beginning to worry about how to deal with the phantoms hunting him. Sure, the traced blade worked against them, but it took a toll on his circuits, and he had a nasty suspicion about the numbers of his pursuers. He could but hope that he pissed them off sufficiently to focus their efforts on him instead of Tohsaka, or the normal, helpless people.

He did not bother opening the gate, simply opted for jumping over the fence on a direct route to the shed which housed his workshop - and at the height of the jump, he felt as if a horse kicked him in the stomach. His next sensation was a brief weightless moment of flight, before the pain and crashing registered. Something tore a hole through his midsection, and sent him crashing through the door, his blood splattering on the floor.

Heaving for breath, he forced himself upright, leaning against the far wall, as static buzzed in his mind. He could dimly perceive the armored man appearing in the door, his voice a distant drone in Shirou’s ears. He tilted his head to the side, puzzled, as pain exploded in his thighs, and his legs gave out. Strange. He did not remember putting a blue light into the shed - and he definitely did not recall ever drawing such an intricate arcane circle on the floor.

The masked man loomed closer, his voice grating in Shirou’s ears.

“You are annoying, kid. And just for that, I will make sure to drag you back to my Master, so you can watch your pretty little girlfriend suffer the consequences.”

The mocking, cruel voice simultaneously revolted and infuriated Shirou. There had to be something he could do. He needed to stop this man, this monster. He needed to…

The summoning circle lit up, drinking in the prana and blood, as the blade in the Servant’s hand swung for Shirou’s neck - only to be swept aside by a black-armored forearm. A rapid exchange of blows, then a crash from outside, and the masked Servant’s furious, insane shriek.

“You! Fucking bitch, why do you have to … ”

The rant was cut short by an enraged, pained howl, an explosion, then silence.

Shirou managed to open his eyes, and focus through the static buzzing in his mind, and the deep, steady burning from his circuits.

Crinkling emerald eyes looked back at him from under a mop of fiery hair. A black armor sporting a single red stripe along the arm and an N7 insignia on the chest hugged the woman’s form. A husky contralto, the timbre of command unmistakable, spoke.

“I ask of you: are you my Master?”


	9. Chapter 9

Rin panted as she lowered her hand, the inky black energy of the Gandr curse dissipating along with the outline of the last shadowy assailant she could sense. A quick inventory of her resources made her cringe and seethe simultaneously - when she caught the bastard responsible for summoning that ravening Avenger, she’d skin the bastard alive, and seize any and all wealth he had to restock the gems she had to sacrifice. And the most galling thing was that she did not even face the Servant himself, only his summoned minions. The sheer indignity of it irritated the already-incensed Tohsaka. Here she was, heir to an ancient and proud bloodline, a bona fide Average One, and she still had to sacrifice a handful of minor gems to survive the hunting minions. 

She gulped, and paled as realization hit. If she, with all her power and training had to exert even such a moderate effort to dispatch the shadows, how would a nobody like Emiya handle them? More pressingly, how many mundanes would suffer and witness the likely bloody demise of the boy? 

She turned around, orienting herself towards the Emiya residence, took a deep breath, prana tracing a faint green circuitry along her legs, and then she took off, while her senses reached for her Servant. Not that she was worried - since he was hers, it was a given that Garrus would have no problems with someone like Leng. 

“Nice to know that my Master worries for an old fossil like me, but honestly, your estimate is mostly correct - in a straight-up fight like the tussle we just had, Leng has very little chance.” 

Rin stumbled at the smugly mirthful voice of her Servant, and Archer’s mandibles parted in a grin at the hint of pink in her cheeks. A heartbeat later, the perfectly composed and balanced Tohsaka Rin, running with the distance-eating strides of a marathon runner, smiled at her Servant. The expression was a marvel of perfect innocence, of pure, honest goodwill - and judging by the wariness and alertness flooding the link between their minds, Garrus correctly interpreted it as such. There was just something slightly off, hidden beneath the caution of the turian… 

“So, are we going to check on the other kid?”

“Yes, Archer.” She smiled, eyes crinkling. They were close, barely a few blocks away from the Emiya estate. “We are going to inquire about the continued wellbeing of Shirou Emiya, and then he and I will discuss his inappropriate, borderline despicable conduct. After which I will ensure that he takes his proper station under me.”

The bond barely gave enough warning for her.

“And here I thought one needed to bring alcohol, and something called flowers... Oh well, I suppose customs around here are somewhat different.”

Rin flushed scarlet, and opened her mouth, the Command Seals on her hand lighting up with prana, all set to teach her inappropriate, irreverent, irritating and maybe, possibly, in a distant, unrelated way, correct, Servant a lesson the turian would never forget. 

The words died in her throat, as both she and Garrus felt the ignition of an ethereal beacon that was a full-fledged ritual summoning, followed by the metaphysical weight of a materialized Servant pressing down on their psyche, as simultaneously a putrid flame mixed of bloodlust, rage and terror lit up as well, carrying the distinct feel of Avenger’s aura. A crash of broken masonry was heard, followed by an enraged shriek, then Leng’s presence vanished.

Rin stopped, her senses, sharpened by Archer’s  presence, quested towards the Emiya residence. She frowned involuntarily, a grudging sense of admiration suffusing her towards the architect of the bounded fields encompassing the unassuming, quiet house. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as her mind raced. Originally, she was prepared to give some leeway to Emiya, a chance to explain himself why he did not notify the Second Owner of Fuyuki about him being a magus. Now, when faced with the intricate spellwork and the fact that he summoned a Servant, she seriously considered simply ordering Archer to blow up the whole building from the distance, just to be sure. Yet something held her back - and she was glad for the minor distraction she felt from the link.

“What is it, Archer?”

“There is something familiar about this presence, Master...”

Rin groaned. Another weird Servant in the War. Just great. It would have been so much easier to face heroes from the past - at least when fighting them, she would have been able to count on the knowledge of their legends to figure out possible Noble Phantasms and abilities. On the other hand, overcoming such obstacles was indeed a suitable test for a genius like herself.

“Careful what you wish, Rin. You just might get it.” A rifle materialized in Archer’s hands, then the Servant jumped gracefully on a roof across the street, without a sound. “If you want me to...”

Rin wanted to answer, she really did. However, the appearance of the other Servant interrupted her, and she could but stare at the stunning black-armored woman. Emerald eyes blazed from under a mop of fiery hair, a blade of orange light burning in one hand, the other glowing with an incandescent blue aura, as she strode closer, every motion exuding a dangerous, alluring confidence that felt so intoxicating and...

Boom.

Rin’s mouth dropped open as Archer’s shot was dissipated by a shimmering blue barrier that sprang into being around the nameless Servant. She could feel those bright green eyes unerringly focusing on her Servant as a corona of blue-white power raged into being around the other woman. Rin knew with chilling certainty that both the turian and she were dead. Her Command Seals lit up, as she prepared for her final battle, a distant corner of her mind lamenting that she would miss the opportunity to get to know her better - and to teach her own Servant a lesson or two.

“Well, well, look who we have here.” Her Servant’s flanging voice was full of amusement. “If it isn’t the crown princess of bottleshooters herself. Nice that you left the bar to join us down here.”

And just like that, Rin’s worry dissipated, replaced with calm, honest happiness, along with a smile that contained no trace of wrath, malice, or a promise of bloody retribution. And it certainly was not directed at her Servant - or at Shirou Emiya, who just appeared behind his Servant, the back of his hand alight with prana as he prepared to use a Command Seal to do something.

“Good evening, Emiya-kun. I think we should talk.” She smiled at him, blue eyes crinkling in amusement. And no, him paling before he made a jerky nod of fearful assent did not fill her with malicious glee.

++++++

Shirou tended to fall back on certain activities when stressed - and in light of the situation, cooking seemed a very good option, with perhaps the least chance of devolving into an all-out brawl that could reduce his home into a pile of rubble. Naturally, his efforts slammed hard into the affable smirking visage of Archer - or more precisely, that of Garrus. 

“Thanks for the offer, kid, but I’ll have to decline.”

“I know that Servants do not require food to sustain themselves, but as far as I’m aware, they can still derive prana from it. And it is my duty as a host to provide for my guests.”

“Even if said guests could easily turn your house if not the whole city block into a smoking crater?”

“Especially then.” 

“Archer, if you accept anything from him, there will be consequences.” Rin’s voice was the perfectly sweet, happy pitch that could only come from inhuman amounts of self-control.

“Tohsaka, I have enormous respect for you, but please refrain from implying I would poison my guests.” Shirou’s tone was aggrieved, as he worked in the kitchen on some kind of food that had both Rin and Saber paying close attention, much to Garrus’ amusement. 

“Don’t worry Master, Garrus’ refusal has more to do with him being rather incompatible with human food than your own culinary skills.” Saber grinned at the other Servant. “He’s a frail, sensitive being like that - come to think of it, just like certain birds.”

The turian glared at her, the effect decidedly offset by the amused twitching of his mandibles.

“Says the one who is named after a profession that involves herding docile and stupid animals.”

Rin put down her cup with just a bit more effort than strictly needed, and cleared her throat.

“While I’m satisfied that there were no casualties, no need for mindwiping civilians, and no immediate clash between you Servants, can we focus on the important topics here?” She smiled demurely at Shirou, the boy barely managing not to recoil from the sheer innocent cheer of the facial expression. “Like how a third-rate magus dares to practice his craft without informing the city’s Second Owner. Or how said hack is able to summon a Servant - and by extension, has knowledge of the Holy Grail War. While we’re at at, let’s not forget how the current War is way ahead of schedule, and the summoned Servants are pretty … distinctive, shall we say?”

“Hear that, Shepard? She thinks we’re distinctive.”

“Well obviously. Ugly, two-legged chickens dumb enough to stop rockets with their faces tend to stand out.”

The expression that Rin directed towards the two Servants could not be mistaken for a smile. Her anger grew when her own Servant simply flared his mandibles in a wry grin, his amusement flooding their bond, while Saber merely grinned at her, leaning back casually. The young Second Owner transferred her glare to the other nominal human in the room, who placed a tray full of various delicacies on the table.

“So, Emiya-kun. I think you’d better start explaining fast.”

Shirou sighed, placed the tray of delicacies on the table, in easy reach for all, and looked into the crystal-blue eyes of the other magus.

“I’m not sure we have time for a lengthy explanation now, Tohsaka.” He raised a hand to forestall her protest. “As far as I understand, I have to meet the Overseer of the War to verify my participation - and if that person is who I think he is, it will not be a pleasant experience.”

Rin’s eyes narrowed at that.

“I was not aware you knew the fake priest, Emiya-kun.”

“Not personally, but my father met him during the previous War. Moreover, he shot him point-blank, more than once, and left him for dead at ground zero for the Fuyuki Fire.” His eyes bored into Rin’s surprised gaze. “It does make one wonder just how he is still around.”

The two Servants shared a glance, before Garrus spoke.

“In my experience, humans can be pretty stubborn when it comes to surviving battle injuries. If one can use rage as both a hell of an anesthetic and motivation to survive being shot in the head, maybe this priest could also do that.” He flared his mandibles in a wry grin at his Master. “Also, if he fought in the previous War, would that not make him a magus as well, with access to skills that could allow his survival?”

“He is certainly a magecraft user, but he should not have the power to survive multiple gunshot wounds.” Rin smiled without mirth. “Unless he is good enough of an actor to have misled both me and my father for over a decade about his abilities.” She shook her head, then glared at the other magus. “Anyway, enough speculations. Focus, Emiya-kun, and answer - before I lose my patience. At least I can already guess why and how you know about the Grail War.”

The boy sighed again, then relaxed his posture a bit, his eyes halfway closed.

“I did not introduce myself or ask for your permission to establish a Workshop because that only applies to other magi; and neither myself nor my father considered ourselves that.” He shook his head and went on before Rin could speak. “Yes, I do use magecraft, but that’s all I have in common with a typical magus. I do not chase Akasha, and I’d like to think that I have a passable moral compass that most magi lack, or disregard.” He paused for a moment, taking in Rin’s blazing eyes, and he chuckled. “Present company excepted, of course. And I can’t tell you how happy I am about that.”

“Are you implying that I’m lacking compared to other magi, Emiya-kun?” Rin’s saccharine smile would have been convincing if not for the slight twitch in her eye - and the way her Servant struggled to suppress his amusement. 

“Yes.” The bluntness shocked Rin for the crucial second, so Shirou could continue. “Despite your talents, your lineage, your drive for results, you do not consider other people as disposable tools. Simply put, you are still human, and not a sociopathic bastard like most magi.”

One look at Rin’s face was enough for Garrus to completely lose the struggle against laughter, and Saber also chuckled.

“He’s got you there, Master.” The flanging voice was full of smug mirth. 

“Archer?” Rin’s voice was the inflectionless tone of someone whose patience was hanging by a thread. “Do not assist Emiya-kun with his distractions.” She transferred her glare to Shirou anew. “I’m willing to stipulate that you are not a proper magus, as I do not really believe the Fake Janitor is just a mere persona you use to interact with others. Still, the complexity of the wards around your home does make your claim somewhat shaky.”

“Hey!” Shirou’s indignant yelp was countered by an elegantly raised eyebrow. The boy shook his head, and went on. “Anyway, as to summoning a Servant - I have to admit, that was mostly by accident. I had no idea about the summoning circle in the shed.”

Rin’s eyes widened as she processed his words, her mind delving into the connection to her Servant to augment her assessment with his senses, and then chuckled bitterly.

“You summoned the best Servant class, a stunningly powerful Saber at that, completely by accident.”

“Oi, Master, don’t say things like that, her ego’s big enough already!”

“Shut up Vakarian, she’s simply much smarter than you.” The red-haired Servant preened with an amused grin. “And better able to recognize talent, power, and beauty when she sees it.”

Rin blushed, but powered on.

“So, if I’m understanding you correctly, your father was a Master in the previous War … and he fought Kirei.” Rin paled, as realization hit, and only her Servant’s grip prevented her from falling when she stumbled as she jumped back. “You … you are the son of the Magus Killer?”

Shirou smiled bitterly.

“No. I was adopted by Kiritsugu Emiya a few days after the Fuyuki Fire. The Magus Killer has not made an appearance since his involvement in the previous War as the Einzbern representative.”

Rin opened her mouth to say something, then her eyes narrowed, her thoughts racing, before she smiled and nodded with grudging respect.

“Very nicely worded, Emiya-kun.“ Blue eyes locked gaze with golden ones. “What are your intentions now? Since the Grail responded to your call, accidental it may have been, you must have something you desire that requires winning this War.”

The boy looked awkwardly to the side, before he raised his gaze again.

“I do not trust the Grail’s intentions, to be honest. Still, my father tasked me with fixing his mistakes from the past War, and I intend to do so - while saving as many innocents as possible.” The golden eyes flashed steel for a heartbeat. “I will do all I can to spare innocents from the murderous struggles of power-hungry maniacs with total disregard for other humans.” His eyes blazed. “I will save as many people as possible.”

Archer chuckled, and Shirou cast a long-suffering gaze at him, which the turian shrugged off.

“So you want to save innocents, kid?” There was some emotion in the flanging voice that Shirou could not decipher, beside the obvious mirth. The two Servants shared a glance at his determined nod. “Figures that would call out to Shepard.”

Rin could not resist facepalming.

“Don’t encourage him, Garrus. Especially since we are likely to fight them after this unspoken truce of ours ends.”

“Do you now?” Shepard asked. “From what I can tell, my Master does not necessarily want the Grail itself - and even if he realizes later on that it’s needed for his aims, all of us would benefit from an alliance until the rest of the participants are dealt with.” The emerald eyes flashed with fury. “Particularly Leng and his Master.”

“So Tohsaka, what do you say? Shall we work together, at least for the foreseeable future?”

Rin barely hesitated, and the approval from the mental link was not really a factor in her decision; neither was the smile of the other Servant.

“Agreed, Emiya-kun.”

++++++

Shirou could not suppress a feeling of being watched as the foursome approached Fuyuki Church. Likely at least another magus was using familiars to spy on the Overseer’s abode to gather information on the competition.

“I concur, Master.” Shepard sent through their link. “Both me and Garrus can feel traces of at least one foreign Servant’s presence. Must have been quite powerful if we can still pick up on its presence.”

“And I guess it’s not that Leng guy, or you would have named it.”

A chuckle was the only answer.

“Well, here we are Emiya-kun.” Rin did nothing to mask her distaste for the place. “If you still want to officially participate, this is where you need to register.” She thought for a moment, then turned towards her materializing Servant.

“Archer, can you...”

“Don’t worry Master, we got this.” The turian flashed a smirk towards the other Servant. “Just like old times, Shepard. I hope you haven’t lost your touch.”

“Relax, Garrus - if anyone’s stupid enough to start a fight, I’ll get them both to safety.” The red-haired woman grinned, and vanished.

The church door opened on creaking hinges, and the two magi felt the touch of a bounded field as they stepped into the shadowy interior.

“How nice of you to finally accept my invitation and visit, Rin. For the first time, you came to me from your own volition.” There was a touch of amusement in the voice, as the tall priest placed his Bible on the lectern, and stepped towards them. “Though as your guardian, I am somewhat worried that you brought a boy along as your guest.”

Rin’s teeth ground together as she flushed with rage and maybe, possibly, something else?

“Kirei….”

Shirou stepped between them, a pulse of prana alighting the Command Seals on his hand.

“I want to participate in the Holy Grail War.”

Kirei Kotomine smirked as he stepped closer.

“I see. So, you are the straggler the Grail chose to round out the number of Masters.” Another step. “Last time, it was a serial killer. You are not a serial killer, by any chance?”

“... No?”

“That’s unfortunate. Perhaps if you were, things might have gotten slightly interesting.” The priest sighed. “At any rate, should you decide to drop out, you can find shelter here.”

Shirou’s eyes narrowed. There was something about the man’s posture, demeanor, his whole being that was just…

“For the sake of the records, what is your name, Master of Saber?”

“Shirou. Shirou Emiya.”

The reaction was minuscule. If not for the fact that he was paying very close attention to the man, Shirou would have missed it altogether. Rin too almost overlooked it, and only thanks to her link to Archer did she notice the well-hidden exultant joy in Kirei’s body language and expression.

“So, Shirou Emiya...” The priest moved closer, stalking between the pews. “Has my apprentice properly enlightened you about what exactly the Holy Grail War entails?”

“I know enough to make an informed decision whether or not to participate.”

“Really now? I wonder what would drive an ordinary teenager to subject himself to the terrible physical and psychological dangers that such a ritual presents.” Kotomine slowly started to move aside, towards the wall, a faint smug smirk on his lips. “I would advise you to consider your reasons carefully - if you want to impress my ward, you can find much easier methods.”

“I don’t think that’s for the records, Overseer.” Shirou’s voice dripped with distrust, while Rin tried to burn a hole into her guardian with her glare. Kirei ignored their animosity, as he circled slowly around them.

“That is true. Nevertheless, I would consider it a favor if you would indulge my curiosity, Shirou Emiya.” The priest’s smile was unnerving. “After all, you were not destined for this, unlike Rin.”

A quick mental nudge from their bond decided it for Shirou.

“Simple. I want to save as many innocents as possible” both young magi caught the tell-tale tensing of Kirei’s hand, and the way he barely suppressed a triumphant smile “and for that, I need power.”

“I see. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity.” Maybe it was just the creepy ambience, but Shirou could have sworn he saw sparks of unholy glee in Kotomine’s dead eyes.

“Are we done, then?” At a nod from the priest, Shirou and Rin left the temple unhindered.

++++++

“Looks like they managed to leave the church intact.” An impression of a wide grin showing teeth. “Then again, I would have been very disappointed if they didn’t, especially if those two Servants are who I think they are.”

Ilya paused for a moment, turned her head with menacing slowness towards her Servant, furious blood-red eyes drilling into ancient crimson ones.

“And you did not tell me you knew them why?”

“Because I am still not fully sure. They do feel very familiar, though.” A rumbling chuckle. “Besides, if I’m correct, fighting them will be fun.”

The young magus resisted the urge to facepalm. Wrex snorted, then she could feel his eyes on her again.

“Are you sure about this, child?”

“Yes, old turtle. While I may give him the benefit of doubt with regards to his and my father’s conduct, he is still a rival Master.” She sniffed imperiously. “He must be taught his place - just like that Tohsaka heiress.” She flashed a wan, brittle smile at her unseen guardian. “Besides, didn’t you tell me that only in battle can one measure the other’s worth?”

The rumbling laughter seemingly set the ground shaking, then the two of them closed on the foursome walking away from the church, Ilya’s hands weaving an arcane pattern.

++++++

Shirou and Rin walked barely a corner, when they felt the brush of a bounded field activating. Visibility dropped, sounds dampened, both of them could feel the subtle influence exerted towards non-magi to simply ignore whatever happened within. Archer and Saber materialized at their sides, the Servants ready for fight, their senses questing for the attacker.

“I doubt this is Leng or his Master - neither of them would have the balls, knowledge or power to pull off something like this.” Shepard’s voice was calm, with but a hint or eagerness in it.

“I see you followed my advice, onii-chan.” The voice was coming from a young girl, standing at the edge of the bounded field, her blood-red eyes burning with emotion. 

Shirou’s jaw dropped as he recognized the small girl he helped a few days ago - and a part of his brain congratulated the other magus for being able to mask her abilities that well. Rin’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the foreigner.

“Red eyes, white hair, ungodly amounts of prana, and annoying proficiency in bounded fields.” She smiled, baring teeth. “I see the Einzbern again sent one of their own as participant.”

She did not see Shirou’s look when he heard the name from his father’s past. What she could see and sense, first with Archer’s help then on her own, was the almost palpable bloodlust that flooded the confines of the bounded field.

“Oh crap.” The two Servants shared a look, and Rin paled a bit as she sampled Garrus’ emotions via the link. A look at Shirou confirmed her fears that Saber must have felt the same. “Please let it not be him.”

A sinister, rumbling chuckle accompanied the weight pressing down on the material plane, the instinctive urge to flee from an apex predator screamed warnings in the brains of both magi. A hulking, massive figure in blood-red armor took shape at the albino’s side, its first step crunching the concrete beneaths its feet. The aura of bloodlust intensified, gained an eager, almost giddy edge, as the towering alien bared a maw ringed with fangs at them in a bloodthirsty grin. Crimson eyes lit up with the joy of impending battle, and an oversized cannon appeared in the creature’s hand.

“Shepard.” Its voice was a menacing, deep rumble. “Garrus.” The being inclined its scarred head slightly, a minuscule gesture of respect.

“Wrex.” Saber’s husky voice showed just a bit of hesitation. “Let’s talk first, old turtle.”

The answering laughter turned into a boom of displaced air, as a corona of blue-white light ignited around the monstrous Servant, and he vanished into a blue streak of light to reappear directly before Shirou and Rin, the vast barrel of the enormous gun ready to erase them both from existence - and a black-armored hand wreathed in blue flames hit the monster from the side, throwing off its aim. The cannon roared, the shot tore up pieces of the road - which then lifted in the air in a blue glow, and shot towards Rin and Shirou, sent by the tiny gesture of the towering warlord. The chunks of concrete missed their mark due to Garrus hauling both Masters back, tossing them to the side before he materialized an oversized handgun, and started to circle the two brawling Servants.

Ordinarily, Rin would have made a few choice remarks with the proper saccharine or sarcastic tone (depending on her mood) about how her companion was enthralled by the sight of the woman before them - but she too found it almost impossible to tear her eyes off the spectacle. In truth, even with reinforced senses, sharpened further by drawing on Archer’s considerable abilities, she barely perceived images from that whirlwind of motion. Nevertheless, the deadly dance of the dueling Servants spoke to a primal part in her, awe, fear, worry, and another emotion she did not care to dwell on vying within her mind. A glance aside confirmed that if anything, Shirou had it rougher - not surprisingly, since he likely drew on Saber’s senses, while expending quite a lot of prana to keep her in the fight. 

Still, Rin knew that a few choice images would stay with her from that chaotic melee raging just a few steps away. The towering armored behemoth gracefully swaying aside from a burning blade of orange light, its massive, blue-wreathed fist barely missing the woman’s head. A scintillating barrier snapping into place to deflect Archer’s shot from the monster’s head - then Saber’s glowing fist hitting the bestial face, eliciting a howl of delight? Or rage? The woman’s emerald eyes blazing with intensity, her hair a corona of fire as she ignored the oversized cannon blasting a chunk of road from directly beside her head - then her kick connected, and even Shirou winced in pain. Garrus placing shot after shot into the beast’s vitals; yet each and every one of them was either dodged or deflected by the thing’s barrier. And above all the gunfire and explosions, that deep, booming laughter from the Berserker.

“So, are you two surrendering, or will my Berserker have to take your Servants apart?”

Rin’s eyes narrowed at the challenging tone of the Einzbern brat, then blinked as four birdlike familiars materialized above the albino, whose lips twisted into a sneer of contempt. With a spike of prana, she attacked, and Rin’s hastily erected barrier could barely deflect the blow. 

“Ilya, please!” There was a note of desperation in Shirou’s voice. “Stop this! We need to talk! Kiritsugu...”

The only warning they got was a narrowing of the blood-red eyes, before one of the familiars morphed into a blade, and accelerated towards Shirou at a borderline-supersonic velocity, Tohsaka’s gem shield slowing it down for perhaps a fraction of a heartbeat - yet that was more than enough for Garrus to line up a shot that exploded the blade.

“Let’s not disturb the family reunion with bloodshed, kids.”

All three humans gaped at the turian, who flared his mandibles in a wide grin, before focusing once more on the brawl between Wrex and Shepard, ignoring the Masters again.

With eloquence befitting her lineage and status, Rin summed up the feelings of the magi present.

“What.”

++++++

Kotomine Kirei strolled back to the rectory to find his decade-long companion lounging on the sofa as usual, sipping wine. Slitted crimson eyes glared at him, and the King’s voice was a low, menacing hiss.

“She is not the one you promised, Kirei.”

The priest suppressed a sigh. Really, Gilgamesh could have such a one-track mind on occasions.

“True.” He smirked, gesturing towards the golden mirror the King used to scry on the ongoing brawl. “Yet I think she too could be worth your attention - for much the same reasons as the previous Saber.”

“Hm.” Gilgamesh sipped from his ornate cup as he leaned back casually. “I shall see whether she is fit to enjoy the King’s regard.” His eyes glowed as he watched the combat. “Certainly, she is no mere ornament, good only for a brief tumble.” He grinned, showing teeth. “Yes, I think she will provide adequate entertainment.”


	10. Chapter 10

Caules dreams.

It does not surprise him that he gains a glimpse into the mind and history of his Servant, alien though the drell may be - after all, this insight is one of the primary reasons for the dream cycle itself, a means to facilitate better teamwork between the two. He knows that intellectually from his lessons and the grumblings of Lord El-Melloi II; still, the tidal wave of painfully sharp sensory input inundates all his senses simultaneously, scenes of hyperrealistic sharpness flashing by. A life of training and preparation, a life freely dedicated to another race as a servant, to pay them for saving the drell. Hunt following hunt, with a constant struggle to keep that inner core of integrity and honor. A chance meeting with a female of his kind, that turned him to another path for a while with her sheer bravery and determination. A short, brief period when Thane was content, happy, the memories painfully sharp yet cherished with an unshakeable love. The immense loss of his wife, and the spiral of emptiness, distance and vengeance, the inner code crumbling down, his own son starting along a dark path. 

Then Caules sees her. Emerald eyes blaze from beneath a mop of fiery hair, a fathomless well of determination and unshakeable will pulling Thane along the quest to save untold number of sentients - and still taking the time and effort to aid him with his son. Not for advantages, not for favours or as leverage. Doing it because it is the right thing to do. Even during the slow decline of Thane’s last mortal months, she’s there. And when Thane meets his end, Caules is torn between awe and terror at the angel of wrath unleashed.

The magus stirs awake, feeling the presence of his Servant, along with the return of one of his familiars. His eyes go wide as he watches the scenes of the battle, culminating in the impossible, peaceful resolution. 

“She does that.” There’s wry amusement in Thane’s rasping voice, along with admiration.

Caules does not know how to phrase the question, the worry forming in his mind.

“Do not fret, Master.” His Servant’s voice is calm, certain. “I am your Servant, first and foremost.” The drell cocks his head to the side. “Still, this does present us with opportunities.”

 

* * *

 

Luvia stared with wide eyes to the screen, her mind working overtime to process the impossible sight before her. Sure, Masters teaming up temporarily was a valid tactic, but by all records and information available, the Einzberns hated the late Emiya Kiritsugu and his son. Thus, the Einzbern Master should not have walked away with Emiya, especially since the latter was obviously already in some sort of alliance with the Tohsaka Master. Moreover, she did so after their Servants fought a pitched battle where neither side pulled punches. And wait, she was clinging to the boy like…

The blonde magus shook her head, and turned towards her Servant, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated Liara’s expression and what she could sense through their bond. She placed a hand gently on the Servant’s shoulder, as the two locked gazes.

“You know them closely, am I correct?”

Liara’s answer was a nod, and Luvia could sense the emotions behind the stony visage the asari wore, could feel the determination and conflict within.

“Oh my, so it’s like that.” She hid her smile behind a gloved hand, and turned her gaze back towards the screen. “She certainly is impressive.”

The asari nodded, the bond sparking with her conflicted feelings. Luvia thought for a moment, then sighed and shook her head, glaring at her Servant.

“I would appreciate it if you did not belittle my intelligence.” She huffed, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “I may not be a Heroic Spirit, I may not be a Shadow Broker, I may not be over a hundred years, but I do have a functioning brain.” 

Liara looked at her, and Luvia could see the faint ghost-like smile on her Servant’s lips.

“Also, I do not appreciate being made a fool, you should know that.” The Finnish magus turned back towards the images transmitted by Caster’s espionage contraption. “At any rate, I would not ask of you to combat any of them.” Her pose and voice were thoughtful as she went on. “There is something off with this War, there are too many irregularities already. While I would love to best Tohsaka, and don’t think for a moment that I won’t...”

“I would not dream of that, Master.”

Luvia glared at her Servant for a moment, unamused by her amused tone, then she went on.

“As I see it, we have three options. Stand aside and watch to see how things fare, then pounce on the weak. Attempt to join the clearly forming alliance between Emiya, Tohsaka and Einzbern. Try and form another alliance to stand against them.”

Caster nodded, her half-closed eyes moving rapidly as if rapidly reading or viewing something, then the asari spoke.

“My advice would be joining them, and no, this is not purely my past influencing the decision.” She smiled at Luvia, who nodded. “If you want to delve into the irregularities of this War, having two of the three founding families as allies would be a great help. Their Servants are also rather capable, as you have witnessed, and if the Emiya Master is in any way similar to his father, he would have extensive local knowledge of the city, which would spare me the time to dig around for it.” She flashed her Master a twisted, sad smile. “And let’s not forget the fact that if we need to face them, it’s better if they are trusting in us, so they do not see any betrayal coming.”

Luvia looked as if she bit into a lemon.

“That should not be necessary. For a member of the Edelfelt family, lowering myself to such pedestrian tactics would be a dishonor - and while I could theoretically force your cooperation, I think our bond would suffer for it.”

Liara nodded, a content, proud smile on her lips, as her Master continued.

“So, I want you to find out where they are, and then...”

 

* * *

 

Recent events have not made Atrum Galliasta a happy man, seeing as his chances at weeding out some competition from the other Masters was a resounding failure. Admittedly, both he and his Servant were aware that such a turn of events may happen, yet neither of them believed it could come to pass. Still, the fact that his abnormal Servant clashed with both Archer and Saber, fighting them to a draw was a promising sign. Unfortunately, the effort needed to avoid defeat severely depleted their prana stores, and restoring Leng to fighting condition took the lives of a dozen human - not something that was sustainable in the long run. Fortunately, by Atrum’s estimates, he would need at worst two more days to establish a stable connection to the local leylines in order to siphon enough prana from them.

Engrossed in his spellwork, he noticed the visitor’s presence only when his outermost wards have been tripped - still, he could feel no active hostility from the trespasser. With a mental nudge he checked that Avenger too was aware of the issue, then he strode forth to deal with the unscheduled guest. 

Make that two guests, actually. Atrum immediately dismissed the youth with the seaweed-like hair as inconsequential - he could barely sense any prana emanating from him, and there was no way such a youngster would be capable of masking his presence. As for the wizened, bald old man, it took him but a moment to recall his name and identity.

“Greetings, Matou Zouken. What brings a member of the Founding Families to my doorstep during an ongoing Holy Grail War?”

“Greetings, Master of  _ Avenger _ .” Atrum could not help but notice the emphasis Zouken placed on the word. “I suspect you are well aware of the recent development in this highly irregular War, are you not?”

“You can be assured that I keep tabs on my enemies. All of them.”

“Good. That should make it simpler.” The old man grinned at Atrum, and he had to fight back his revulsion; there was something vile and insectile in the man’s whole bearing. “I trust you still aim to win the War?” Zouken’s chuckle was a grating, wheezing hiss, as he took in Atrum’s seething. “While you are a competent Magus with a powerful Servant, not even you can survive against an alliance of Saber, Archer and Berserker.”

“And what can you offer? An alliance in turn?” Atrum sneered. “You are not even a Master yourself - and that wretch beside you has less prana than a garden variety rock.”

“True, I’m not a Master - for the moment.” Zouken’s presence seemed to swell, the shadows writhing around them, his words accompanied by a chorus of buzzing insect wings. “I am, however, the last Magus who was there in person when the ritual of Heaven’s Feel was created in the first place.” He laughed again, a mocking, venomous sound. “Rein in your arrogance, whelp and consider seriously - I can offer the assistance of the Matou Master and Servant Rider, along with at least two more new Servants … not to mention a few extra tools, if needed.”

“And what’d keep you from stabbing me in the back immediately when we dealt with the others? It’s not like there can be two winners.”

Zouken shrugged.

“True. But without disposing of the Emiya-Tohsaka-Einzbern trio, there is little practical chance of winning anyway.” He smiled, and nudged the youth at his side forwards. “And you can use him as a proxy and security measure - he is a Matou by blood, after all.”

Atrum Galliasta inspected the boy again, his mouth turning into a sneer as he contemplated how the Matou have fallen so low - yet he could not deny the truth in Zouken’s words, and having access to such a symbolic link was more than enough of an insurance, his own talents and Sorcery Trait would see to that. He nodded towards the older magus.

“Good. I would recommend using him as a proxy Master for summoning another Servant - and I can assist you in bending the rules of the War just enough so the Grail can provide the requisite prana.” The old man’s smile was a soulless, menacing leer. “If you are worried about him going out of control, I would be even willing to have him sign a geas scroll, just so you can feel secure.”

“Careful, old man. The only reason I’m not ripping your head off right now is the possibility of you possessing some means to assist my Master in winning this farce of a War.”

Zouken tilted his head to the side, his black eyes boring into Avenger’s facemask. The shadows around them cavorted, deepened, the air grew heavy with the pressure of a putrid, cursed presence, the old magus’ voice turning into the droning buzz of countless insects.

“If you want to return to the Throne that quickly, Servant, be my guest.” Cracks spread over the elder’s face and body. “Besides, it is your Master’s decision.” Black eyes of a soulless husk turned towards the blond magus. “What say you, Master of Avenger? Do we have an accord?”

Atrum Galliasta did not hesitate. After all, he could always easily subvert the twisted old monster’s control, usurp its knowledge of the Grail system - yes, there was never a question about what his answer would be.

“Yes we do, Matou Zouken.”

As the old man broke apart into a carpet of insects and worms to slither away, the shadows flared with eager hunger, their tendrils snaking out into the unsuspecting city. A scant handful of hours and dozens of drained people later, the glassy-eyed Shinji Matou stood next to a complex mystic array, a book of writhing worms in his hand as he chanted the formulae required for summoning and contracting a Servant. 

And from somewhere within the void-black depths of the nascent godling trapped in the corrupted Grail, an answer came, bringing with it a sensual, lithe female creature clad in black leather, its silver eyes radiating centuries of cruel, malicious intelligence, its voice a smoky purr of alluring, violent promise, the tentacle-like appendages it wore instead of hair lending it an exotic, aquatic air as she tilted her head to the side and spoke to the drooling Shinji.

“So, do you have what it takes to be a Master?”

 

* * *

 

In the wine cellar of a dark temple, the golden king raised an eyebrow as he felt something brushing against his senses, a presence similar to the one he so recently felt in the flesh, so to speak.

 

* * *

 

Beneath the Matou manor, Sakura writhed and moaned in delirium as Zouken’s worms agitated the shards of the broken Grail implanted into her, opening the floodgates to the shadow that dwelt within. The entity drew closer to awakening as its greater self still trapped in the Grail proper fought to establish a stable connection, flooding the young Magus’ mind and senses with ecstasy as the shadow fed on the screaming city, eager to supply the newly arrived Ruler of the expanding conflict.


	11. Chapter 11

Bazett dreams.

Well, technically she feels more like being dunked into a raging river of memories, a caleidoscopic whirlwind of images, thoughts and emotions that race by her too fast to grasp anything but mere impressions and fractured shards.

Spending countless hours meddling into exogenetics, studying various races, learning how best to put them down. Developing plans for a continued genocide. Fight countless skirmishes when putting that plan into effect, all in the name of ensuring the old enemies, the single largest mistake of Mordin’s race does not become a threat, ever again. Defending his comrades and their mission with everything at hand, including putting an ordinary farm implement straight through the eyes and brain of a berserk krogan. Facing the guilt and doubt of his own actions, deciding to atone by offering cure and salvation to the downtrodden in the galaxy’s ugliest hellhole.

That’s when the red-haired woman sweeps into his clinic, her green eyes blazing with unquenchable determination, her offer a valid alternative for making amends. She encourages and assists him in rectifying his mistake, along with saving his wayward student - and his barbaric, yet necessary work, which then becomes the nucleus of the cure for the ancient wrong. Together, they do everything in their power to save a condemned, dying race of warriors from themselves - and with help, they succeed. 

Bazett awakes with a gasp, her eyes blinking at Mordin, their bond thrumming with images of an exploding atmospheric processor, the heat of flames, a feeling of serenity as the motes of light scatter across the planet’s atmosphere, reforging a dying species, providing salvation for a haunted scientist.

“Had to be me.” The salarian flashes a grin at her. “Even she might have gotten it wrong.”

* * *

 

After the comparatively peaceful negotiations of the previous night, morning was a tense affair in the Emiya stronghold.

“So, care to explain how we have another Servant running around?” Rin’s voice dripped with saccharine politeness. “Especially one belonging to a Class not seen since the Third War, where it did so much good for your family, Einzbern.”

Two pairs of red eyes focused on her, one glaring without much heat or effect, the other with a measure of indulgent respect.

“Calm down, Tohsaka.” Shirou cut in, attempting to defuse the conversational landmine while he proceeded to serve the breakfast to the humans and aliens present. “You are forgetting that while Ilya is, like you, a member of the Founding Families, there is another, much more obvious culprit for such meddling.”

“Sakura would never...” Her voice died in her throat, as her eyes widened.

“I guess my brother does not mean the youngest Matou.” Ilya’s voice was distant, as she focused inwards, delving into her memories for information on the sole surviving founder of the Holy Grail War who was currently present in Fuyuki. “I will admit to knowing precious little of Zouken, but I do not think it was him personally who pulled off the summoning of Ruler. That would have been too straightforward and bold for him.”

Ilya did not notice Shirou’s expression, or how the three Servants shared a brief look, as well as Rin’s glower at her own Servant.

“At any rate, the situation’s different from the Third War, as far as I understand it.” Shirou’s voice was calm and controlled - yet his eyes blazed with the effort of maintaining that control. “Zouken did not summon Ruler in place of a regular Servant, did he?”

“No, he did not. It does not make sense, unless...”

“... unless he is trying for a Great War!” Rin and Ilya looked at each other with surprise and irritation, as they spoke in unison, then both glared at their respective Servants, who started snickering, as Saber rolled her eyes.

“Care to enlighten the third-rate novice here?”

“Go ahead.” Ilya’s gesture and voice perfectly conveyed her magnanimity towards a talented underling. Rin huffed indignantly before she assumed her usual lecturing pose, and Shirou barely suppressed a grin at the byplay.

“The Great War is just thought to be a theoretical scenario and safety measure for when the Grail selects too many possible Masters. In such case, the Masters are sorted in two factions, which then battle for supremacy. The winning faction’s surviving Masters then fight amongst each other until only one Master/Servant pair remains, just like in a normal Grail War.” She frowned, then went on. “The Ruler-class Servant is supposed to be an impartial arbiter of such a conflict, summoned by the Grail itself, and imbued with a number of Command Seals to enforce its edicts on the participants.” She flashed a smug grin at the pouting Ilya. “Did I leave out anything important?”

Ilya opened her mouth, eyes flashing, then she shrieked indignantly when her Servant’s plated paw ruffled her hair.

“Don’t be petty now.” Wrex’s cheerful grin turned remarkably sharklike, his crimson gaze boring into Shirou and Shepard, while he still spoke to Ilya. “We can’t afford much dissension now.” He barked a short laugh. “Do you see it yet?”

Shirou frowned, then his eyes widened.

“Zouken would not care to involve an impartial observer who could potentially turn the Matou Servant against him.” He considered for a moment, then nodded. “He is trying to build a faction and gather allies,true,  but he would be insane to turn it all into a Great War.”

Rin chuckled bitterly.

“When was that old abomination ever sane?”

“Still, Tohsaka, my idiotic brother’s right.” Ilya’s posture and voice both projected a far more mature air than her childlike appearance would have suggested. “Zouken’s arguably insane by human standards, but he’s a bitter, obsessed, ancient Magus as well. He would not empower rivals to his quest for the Grail. In my opinion, it’s far more likely that he somehow ensured that both his children receive Servants...”

Ilya’s voice died as she noted the horrified expression of both Rin and Shirou, the latter’s face morphing into a steely mask, a bitter grimace of a smile on his lips.

“So that would mean he made Sakura a Master as well...”

“Emiya-kun, don’t be ridiculous. Sakura cannot be a Master.” Rin’s voice was sharp, brittle. “She can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Tohsaka, but it is almost certain she is.” He chuckled with grim humor. “And she’s a marvelous actress; I never suspected...”

The young Emiya trailed off when he noticed the glares from both female Masters.

“I would advise you to retract that part, Emiya-kun.” Rin smiled sweetly, without a trace of bitterness.

“Do you think I would enjoy having to fight her?” Shirou grated. “Or you? Or my own sister?” His eyes burned with something Rin could not describe, or look away from. “But if what we suspect is right, and she is indeed a Master enthralled by Zouken, then I will do what I can to save her - one way or another.”

Rin’s answer was a brief, minuscule, jerky nod. If Ilya or Shirou wanted to remark on how her eyes shone, or why, well, both had the sense to remain silent - or were advised so by their Servants.

“We’ve got incoming.” Garrus’ flanging voice sounded calm, but Rin narrowed her eyes at him. There was something under that calm, something she couldn’t place - or rather, an emotion she would not associate with an inhuman spiritual construct. The other two Servants both seemed to sense it as well, as both glared at the turian with barely-disguised impatience. Garrus chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll love this. Especially you, Shepard.” He gestured with his omnitool, sending the image transmitted by his surveillance gear to the other Servants.

“What else did you expect?” Wrex barked a short laugh as he watched the Servant on screen. “After all, no matter what Class she was summoned under, she’s still a quarter krogan.”

* * *

 

Sakura’s screams of pain, denial and ecstasy echoed in the worm pit beneath the Matou manor, as the agitated Crest Worms within her body lashed out in response to their creator’s cold anger at her defiance.

“One would think you have learnt the price of disobedience.” The ancient magus’ voice was a sibilant whisper seemingly coming from everywhere. “I wonder what prompted this bout of rebelliousness. It’s not as if you’d never experienced a mana transfer ritual before.” 

On the landing above, a glassy-eyed Shinji looked on without seeing, while Ruler sauntered towards the piedestal in the center of the floor, even the mindless worms withdrawing from her path, albeit with some reluctance.

“If you want, I could assist you in breaking her defenses.” The Servant purred, her smile eager, hungry. “I would enjoy it so much, and all four of us would get what we want.”

Zouken twitched for a moment, then turned towards Ruler with deliberate slowness.

“I am not in the habit of sacrificing useful tools for a momentary whim or pleasure.” The twisted expression on his visage could only technically be called a smile. “Also, do not waste your energies on trying to influence my mind.”

The asari pouted, her fingers caressing the outline of the writhing teenager, her void-black, swirling eyes boring into Zouken’s night-dark pupils.

“Think, magus - it would be so much easier for you if you could but gain a backdoor, or even an understanding of why you have to struggle against the mental fortress of your tool.” She flashed Zouken a sharp, predatory smile full of promise. “You don’t understand fully, right? For years, you battered and beaten down on her walls, worn them down, forming her into an obedient little tool - then something happened to renew her resistance, and the defenses you tore down were suddenly there again, stronger and much more durable than ever before.” 

She circled to Sakura’s left, her eyes never breaking contact with Zouken, not even when the teenager convulsed in the throes of blissful agony, a word torn from her unwilling lips, and the elder magus’ gaze flickered with cold, calculating fury and gleeful, merciless understanding. At his unspoken command, the worms within and without renewed their assault, the old monster’s magic pressed down on his tool’s mind, weaving through the minuscule gaps the insight opened. A gesture from him, and the undulating carpet of worms formed two distinct arcane shapes, one around Sakura, the other a little off to one side - and its sight made Morinth flash an appreciative smile full of predatory lust at Zouken. The cavernous, insectile mouth of the elder Matou spat words of power from the ancient incantation, drawing deep from the imaginary well of prana that was the unborn Shadow bound to the teenager’s body and soul.

Blood dribbled from Sakura’s mouth as she bit down on another scream of ecstatic agony, her eyes widening in horrific realization about what her “grandfather” deduced from her own moment of weakness - and what his current summoning would likely mean for her senpai. Lifeless purple eyes flared with incandescent hate, shame and desire, her teeth cracking as she flung her will against the chains worming around her thoughts and circuits, struggling to hold back or redirect the energies of the wellspring within. She would not, could not fail in this - she could not endanger senpai any further than she already has… and she would not allow any more of her few happy moments with him be consumed by the dark vortex that swirled at the edge of her senses.

“Mmm, yessss” Morinth’s voice purred, her half-lidded eyes shining with dark mirth. “So delicious, so needy… so futile.” Her lips twisted into a smile of gleeful hunger, as she drank deep from the sensations, sparing a part of her concentration to admire Zouken’s spellwork.

The summoning array lit up with eerie blue light, the cold, damp breath from the pelagic depths beyond time and stars acting as the precursor of the foreign power drawing ever closer in response to Zouken’s chanting.

Sakura renewed her frantic struggles, hurling herself against the chains of compulsion woven into her being during the past decade - yet she knew, deep down that she was not strong enough. Here and now, she was alone, neither senpai nor nee-san would hear her plea for help, not that she could survive either of them seeing her like this. As always, she was alone in the struggle, and she could feel her resolve waver.

Morinth’s smile widened in answer as she savored her despair. Zouken’s voice echoed in the cavernous depths, the waves of ancient, foreign power lapping around them, their vortex spiralling towards the centre of the summoning array.

Despair threatened to drown Sakura, calling her back to the apathetic, borderline-catatonic state that was her default being before…

An image flashed in her mind, a boy relentlessly attempting a task beyond his abilities again and again, never surrendering, never faltering.

Pain exploded in her mind as her teeth cracked, biting back a scream of forced ecstasy. Her writhing hand found purchase beneath the layer of worms undulating in, on, and around her, the greenish stone a steady presence under her fingers - and she realized what happened; she could even guess how they did it. Not that it mattered. She could feel his twisted smile and satisfaction across their bond. Her eyes shone with the same greenish-white fire that her Servant seemed to favor in her visions, and her voice rose in triumph, as the armored form of Rider materialized.

Zouken’s glare intensified, yet they all knew he could not intervene - not if he wanted to finish the summoning successfully. Morinth threw her head back, her laughter ringing with pitiless cruelty.

“You are late, relic of a bygone age.” The hissing, venomous voice purred. “Do not attempt to interfere now, or I will burn your Master’s mind to an empty husk.”

Javik sneered, his eyes and posture radiating boundless contempt. Locking gazes with Ruler, his right fist came up, wreathed in green-white fire - and as the he snapped his fingers.

Sakura’s shrill scream of pain was joined by the enraged howl of the injured Zouken, as Rider’s power reached within his Master, raced along the physical and spiritual paths mapped since their first meeting - and crushed the crest worms in unrelenting microsingularities of immense gravity. Sakura choked, vomited blood, mucus, and liquified remnants of the beings that were implanted to control her so long ago.

Zouken’s chanting faltered for a few moments, as even his inhuman concentration could not compensate for a significant part of his awareness being snuffed out - which, more importantly, also deprived him of his most promising tool. His eyes burned with black hatred at the sneering Servant, as he nodded towards Ruler, before refocusing on finishing the summoning.

Morinth’s mocking laughter filled the chamber as she stared down the other Servant. Beneath her skintight armor, a complex array of Command Seals lit up with a sullen red glare, and her hand snapped up, pointing at Rider, her voice a clarion call of authority.

“By this Command Seal, I order you, Servant Rider, to cease interfering and submit to my will.”

A brief flash of bloodred light, and a twitch from Javik. Morinth sneered, and power laced her words as she spoke again.

“By my second Command Seal, I bind you, Servant Rider, to submit to my will.”

She shuddered in wicked delight as she felt the power of her compulsion rush towards the other Servant, her savage grin anticipating the crumbling of resistance - after all, no mere Servant could stand against an order backed by the power of two Command Seals. She barely got a fraction of a moment as a warning.

The worm-infested cavern lit up with green-white fire that scorched away all worms and insects around Rider and its Master. The armored Servant’s voice was full of contempt as he glared at the other sentients.

“You forget you place, broken asari.” Javik spared a glance for his Master, motioning her to rise, and as the girl struggled to obey, he went on. “Your Class might give you the illusion of control over other Servants, but I am not like them.” Dark mirth crept into his voice, along with an echo of power. “I am not merely the Rider of this War; I never was a simple Heroic Servant.” Shinji fell, unconscious, the pressure of Rider’s presence overwhelming his broken mind. Morinth snarled, fighting to lift her hand to fling her power against the other Servant. “I am the voice of a dead people, the wielder of their boundless wrath, the avatar of their vengeance.” His smile turned colder and more feral. “And companion to the one who put you down like the rabid animal you are.”

Ruler howled, flinging warpfire at Rider, who dissipated it with a casual flick of his hand. The second wave of coruscating power was swallowed by a miniature, yawning black hole, the wave of insects burned away by a sweeping aura of sickly green fire. Morinth’s renewed inhuman screeching contained a stream of words barely recognizable - yet the flash of another expended Command Seal, along with Zouken’s triumphant shout, was more than enough indication as to her intent.

In the middle of the summoning array, a human woman stood, radiating the cold distance of aeons past, her clothes the dark of interstellar void and the blue of the pelagic depths. She opened her eyes, and spoke with the voice of primordial tides.

“ **YOU, WHO HAVE BREACHED THE DARKNESS - ARE YOU MY MASTER?** ”

Zouken’s confusion morphed into a savage grin, as the Command Seals on his hand flared to life like the tentacles of some monstrous dweller of the deep. 

“Yes, I am.” Dark satisfaction laced his voice. “Now Foreigner - show me your might, and devour Rider!”

Sakura barely had time to draw breath to scream her command to her Servant, before Javik laughed, and spoke a name, a call, an activation of a Noble Phantasm, an integral part of his own legend - and the reason he heeded the call as Rider, not as Avenger.

And as his call was answered, every seismograph in and around Fuyuki City went berserk.


End file.
